


Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes

by TaylorCee591



Series: When History Repeats [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, ANGSTY ANGST ANGST, Drug Use, Follows series 3, Gen, It's all very sad really, NOT Johnlock, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Suicide Attempts, closer than previous work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorCee591/pseuds/TaylorCee591
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft's had enough. He needs Sherlock to come back for the sake of his relationship. But how will everyone react to Sherlock's revival and Mycroft's deceit? </p><p>Sequel to "I Owe You" which is very AU so you will need to read that first.</p><p>Follows Series 3 episode by episode, it is stated in the notes. </p><p>Rated Mature for drug use and suicide attempts.</p><p>There is established Mystrade here but while they play a large part (i.e not just implied in the background) they are not the main subject, the focus shifts back and forth between everyone involved. </p><p>This is not a Johnlock fic either. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This part follows "The Empty Hearse", I'll tell you when it's "The Sign of Three" and "His Last Vow".
> 
> POVs still put in [name] - sorry if that bugs you but it's the least intrusive way I know.

**[Mycroft's]**

Mycroft sat in a posh restaurant in London, although it was rather downmarket for his habitual taste it was becoming a regular haunt for the pair. He sat without food or a beverage except for an untouched glass of water staring into the mirror on the wall in front of him at the street behind him. He wasn't really looking at it at all and failed to register when a familiar figure ran past the window.

Greg bundled, a little noisily, in the door of the restaurant, out of Mycroft's sight, and shook himself off. He looked up with pink cheeks as the head waiter approached him, he looked around and, spotting Mycroft, gestured to the table. The waiter nodded and offered to take his coat after which he picked up another menu with the intention of following Greg to the table but the Inspector took it and thanked the man before walking there alone. He looked to where Mycroft was staring; it was dark outside and the streets were lined with festive lights but it was obvious that he saw none of that.

"Mycroft?" The man managed to pull his attention back into the room and looked up to realise that it was Greg who was standing there after which he stood up from his chair. "You alright?" Greg looked at him with worry.

"Yes, quite fine. I was just," he leaned in to kiss Greg's cheek, "preoccupied."

"Right." Greg wasn't convinced but he stepped into his place on the other side of the table anyway and they both sat. "Well, I'm sorry I'm late."

"Are you?" Mycroft looked at his watch as Greg furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Yes, by half an hour… Mycroft, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, I was just… thinking." He shifted slightly in his seat as if it was uncomfortable but it wasn't the seat and Greg knew the behaviour by now.

A waiter made his way over and Greg enthusiastically ordered the dish that he had been looking forward to all day. Mycroft muttered something that, Greg could see, was the first thing that he could think of.

They made small talk for a few minutes as Greg needlessly explained why he was late and Mycroft tried to keep himself in the room. "Did you see Phillip, how is he?"

Greg decided that letting it go would probably be for the best. "Yeah, I did. He's…" He sighed.

"Gregory, you can tell me anything, even if it involves my brother."

The greying man hesitated for a moment as the waiter brought over the bottle of wine that Mycroft had suggested. To the man's distaste Greg had waved him away insisting that he would pour. "Well, he's not good."

"Surely, considering his obsession caused him to lose his job that should not come as much of a surprise to you?"

"Well no, but I guess I thought that after this long he would have made his peace with it but he's just as bad. He's even got a map!"

"A map?"

"He's found these cases all over Britain that he's determined were only solved with Sherlock's interference."

"Really?"  _If only._

"And he's only bloody gave them titles. Oh, sorry." Greg looked around him still trying to get used to the posh restaurants although it seemed that no one had noticed.

"Gregory, I've told you before; I don't care how you talk in here or anywhere. If they don't like it then there is a perfectly good steakhouse next door so…" He gestured around. "Stop worrying about people that do not matter."

Greg smiled. "I wasn't worried about them."

"Well, I happen to enjoy the way that you speak – it is a happy change from what I've been surrounded with since I was born. It is genuine without all the coating and pretence."

The waiter walked over from the kitchen with the men's main courses. They saw this and both started to unfold their napkins, the waiter put Mycroft's down first before he turned to set Greg's dish down in front of him and noticed that the Inspector had tucked his napkin into the top of his shirt. He paused and stared. Mycroft was in the middle of unfolding his own napkin to place on his knee when the two men noticed the waiter staring, Greg looked down confused and the young man resumed placing the plate on the table.

_I am so sick of idiots like this one trying to make Gregory feel out of place. Especially since this one likes to dress in women's clothes so you'd think he would know what it feels like to be made to feel like you are the odd one out when neither of them are._

Mycroft tucked his own napkin into the top of his shirt and looked up at the young man with his usual condescension that he reserved for arseholes.  _And you have just earned that status._ "That's fine, thank you." The young man hesitated and then turned away.

Greg was still trying to figure out what the kid had been staring at when Mycroft distracted him. "You were saying?"

"Yeah, he seems to think that Sherlock's still here just making his way back to London."

Mycroft paused.  _What?_  "What do you mean?"

"According to Anderson there are several cases that have been solved over the past two years that could only have been solved by him, all leading, slowly but surely, from Scotland down to London."

_Inverness. Oban. Jedburgh. Ambleside. Driffield. Ellesmore Port. Bretton Way. Trowbridge. I knew it._

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laying this all on you I just feel so bad because the guilt really has ate away at him."  _Tell me about it._ "I'm going to try and see if I can get his case reviewed."

"Did you drop those things off with John?"

"Yes, after I saw Anderson I went round."

"And how is he?"  _Other than just alive…_

"He's fine. Well, he says that he is but…"

Mycroft took a silent deep breath that seemed to take all of his energy. The weight of his guilt baring down on him like the weight of the western world.  _Gregory, John, Mrs Hudson and now Phillip, who he didn't even know._ "You don't think so?" Greg topped up their glasses, much higher than was appropriate and Mycroft smiled internally at the memory of their discussion about the ridiculousness of wine glasses.

"I think that he's getting on with life but I definitely think that the war stopped being what's keeping him up at night a long time ago. I wasn't sure about leaving him that video but I did anyway." Greg put his glass down. "Excuse me, mate?" He looked over to the young waiter who failed to hide his disgust as he walked over but Greg didn't notice. "Yeah hi, can we have another bottle, please?"

"Certainly… sir." He gave Greg a Mycroft-special kind of smile and Mycroft had had enough.  _Oh no you don't, not my partner._ The man turned back to Mycroft. "And for you, sir?"

"As he said,  _we_  would just like another bottle please, and make it bloody quick… mate." Mycroft showed the young man how it was done properly and the kid stuttered an embarrassed reply before excusing himself. Mycroft looked up to see Greg looking at him with his mouth open. "What?"

>><<

Mycroft sat in his armchair in the sitting room of his house by the roaring fire. He stared at the flames not actually aware of them because his mind had long since travelled to his brother, Sherlock Holmes… The late Sherlock Holmes. Suddenly the heat of the fire was too much and the house suffocated him so Mycroft stood and rushed outside to the open, fresh air. He lit a cigarette and walked along to the corner of the house to look at the lake. The water was so still that it didn't even ripple, the grass didn't move because there was no wind and the whole area was lacking any signs of life. There was one solitary tree to the left of the lake, from Mycroft's perspective, and it stood bare, grey and frail.  _It looks so innocent._   _Far from it._

He could remember that night like it was yesterday; pulling up outside, unlocking the front door, going inside the house and calling out for Sherlock, finding every room devoid of life except the fire which had almost died away, going up the stairs into Sherlock's room and wondering where the hell he could be before looking out of the window at the lake. A bare foot was all that he could see from underneath the swell of leaves.

Mycroft remembered running down the stairs in a way he never had before or since, he got out of the front door and slipped on the gravel as he tried to take a sharp right, he had fallen onto his right knee but managed to catch himself and push back up before coming to the grass and slipping his way down that too. His attire was not one for running around, his suit and shiny shoes were no match for the varnished gravel and soggy but maintained grass. None of that mattered as he got to the bottom of the hill and saw that that bare foot was attached to a leg covered by dark cotton pyjama bottoms. The rest was obscured by the tree trunk but he only had to take a few more steps to his right to see his baby brother lying there, lifeless but graceful.

If Mycroft hadn't known better, he would have sworn that his brother was just asleep but, somewhere deep down in his stomach, he did know better.

He immediately sunk to his knees where he was and, completely ignoring the paraphernalia on the ground to Sherlock's left, his eyes never left Sherlock's face as tears began to tickle his own. The moonlight only made Sherlock's complexion a more transparent shade of white as Mycroft scrambled forward and tried to rouse his brother. "Sherlock?" _Can't be dead._ "Sherlock!" He tried to find a pulse. _Can't be dead… He_

Mycroft was brought back to himself when a figure moved up beside him. "You okay?"

"Yes." He let himself memorise the innocent, frail, grey and bare tree for a moment before turning to his partner. "I just needed a cigarette."

Greg looked down at Mycroft's hand. "Well, that's a lie."

Mycroft looked down too to see himself holding just a bare butt and what used to be a cigarette, which was now just a small pile of ash, on the grass directly underneath. He'd completely forgotten to smoke it. Greg handed him another and lit them both.

"Sometimes being in that house is too much for me."

"I know that you miss him, Mycroft. You don't have to lie to me."

_But I do and I am. I have been for so long._

"You have nothing to feel guilty for, Mycroft."  _I do._ "I don't understand how you can think you have any blame in all of this. John and me, I can understand but you? I don't, not at all."

"John and you?" Mycroft turned his whole body to Greg a little confused.

"Well yeah, Sherlock tells John he's doing it to stop the man from doing it to himself, you can't blame the guy for feeling a little responsible." He blew out smoke.

"And you?"

Greg's eyes instantly changed, they became soft and contrite. "I'm the one that brought Sherlock in to help us with John, Molly even said to me, 'why would you bring him in on a suicide?' and I-" He sighed and rubbed his head.  _No, don't you dare blame yourself._ "I swear to you, I never thought that it would affect him so much, I just thought that maybe he could talk to him, tell him there is actually a light at the end of the tunnel. I even thought that it might be good for the  _both_  of them but I never for one minute thought that it would all end with his body, your brother!" Greg was shouting now and almost crying.

Mycroft pulled him slowly into an embrace. "It's okay." He hushed him and they stood like that for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft. This was all my fault, it's all my fault." The Inspector mumbled into Mycroft's shirt but made no attempt to pull away, if anything he held on tighter possibly afraid that he would lose him if he let go.

_Just over two years Gregory and I have been together and for two years I've been lying to him. That was bad enough but this is the final straw._

>><<

Mycroft walked into his bedroom feeling the weight of the past two years pulling on his every muscle. He yanked his tie off without the careful approach he would usually take.  _It was just a tie, what did it matter anyway. And now it's stuck, perfect._ He pulled at it, getting more and more angry as Greg's words replayed in his mind. Greg, sitting on the end of their bed, looked up to see Mycroft struggle with it.

"Whoa, whoa." He stood and quickly put his hands on Mycroft's, in response the man immediately stopped and sighed. "It's okay." He loosened the knot and pulled it from around the man's neck with one hand as the other rested on his shoulder. "What's all this? It's just a tie." He held it up a little, a bundle in his right hand before he looked at it. "Actually, I've never seen this one before?"

Mycroft looked at it before looking back to Greg. "Sherlock gave it to me." He slipped past the man and into the bathroom leaving his partner standing holding the tie wondering what he could possibly do to help. Mycroft didn't even think of how it only fed Greg's guilt as he shut the bathroom door and leaned against it.

_Enough. I've had enough of the lying and the barrier between Gregory and I._

Mycroft took out his phone to look at it before pressing it to his top lip.  _Enough._

>><<

The next day John Watson stood staring at the familiar stone in the cold daylight and his reflection staring back, the two words still two words too many. He looked down at the flowers laid in front of the stone, there were a few bunches but none of them fresh. As he calmed himself a hand clasped his own and he took it quite willingly. Greedily. He let out a heavy sigh thankful to not be doing this alone anymore.

>><<

Mycroft found himself with a ridiculous task. Of course it would have been worse if he hadn't already had other people do the legwork. He got out of his car somewhere on the south side of the river and walked over to a woman begging on a bench swinging his umbrella as he did so. He stopped in front of her and she looked up at him.

"Spare change, mister?"

He reached into his pocket for the note. In fact, it was a note wrapped around another kind of note. The woman opened the fifty to read the two words. She looked up at him and then back to the note.

"It's important." When she didn't say anything in reply he sighed and turned to walk away.

"What's your name?"

He stopped in his tracks, hesitated and then turned slowly on his heels. "Mycroft."

She stood and handed him back the money. "Come on, Mr Holmes." She slowly began to walk along the tunnel away from the road and Mycroft signalled to his driver to circle until he called.

He followed her for ten minutes after which he had begun to wonder if this was wise. From the looks he was getting he was sure he was being considered new meat but if he didn't know better he would swear that they recognised him. She stopped in the middle of an area covered by bridges and railings leading onto the river. The woman pointed to the corner and nodded before turning away. Mycroft took her hand and handed her back the money before she smiled in thanks and joined a group in the opposite corner.

Mycroft cautiously walked to the corner she had indicated where there was a figure lying facing the wall, he was wearing trainers, jogging trousers and a rain jacket with a hood that he had pulled up – one might consider that he was sleeping. He stopped behind him and wondered how to do this before he took out his phone and called a number he hadn't contacted in two years. The maybe-sleeping man's phone rang which seemed to surprise him, he took it out and looked at the caller ID before pausing and rejecting the call.

"You have spent your whole life ignoring me and now you're spending your death doing it too?" The man slowly turned his head around to look at Mycroft. As far as Mycroft could tell the man didn't have a face anymore, it was just a mesh of hair that stuck out of the hole in his hood. "Get up."

"Mycroft?" _Now, that was a much too posh voice for a street rat._

"Come on." Mycroft put his umbrella over his right arm and text his driver.

He turned around slowly. "Is John okay?"

"Yes, he's fine. Nothing has happened."

"So, why have you found me now?" The man's voice was hoarse and deeper than Mycroft remembered.

Mycroft just cocked an eyebrow at the fur ball.  _Surely_   _not here._ "I've done this for two years and I've had enough of the constant lies to everyone."

"You mean to Lestrade?"  _That wasn't a question. Certainly not one that needed to be asked._   _Is he asking if we're still together?_

"I do." Mycroft did not expect what happened next.

The man stood and pulled his hood down. "What do you propose?" His mess of hair fell down to rest on his shoulders.

"A shave." He put his phone back as his car pulled up behind him. "Then back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft could swear he saw a smile appear on the yeti's face.


	2. Chapter 2

John had been thinking about it ever since he left but only now did he think that he had the strength for it as he stood looking at 221 Baker Street. He hesitated before he put his key in the door and took the step that he had been avoiding for two years.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Across town Mycroft folded his paper and looked to his brother being treated to a much needed shave after the haircut that was equally needed.

"I still think I should have kept the hair." Sherlock's hair was back to its usual length but it was wet and sleeked back like something from a strange new world.

"Sherlock, let's not be ridiculous you looked like a stray dog."

"That could be considered a frightfully apt description."

"Two years, Sherlock." Mycroft put the paper down and tried to keep himself together.

"I am aware, Mycroft."

"What have you been doing all this time?"

"Keeping to the shadows, why?"

"Not indulging in any cases then?" Mycroft saw his brother trying to feign ignorance as he shrugged. Mycroft looked to the pile of files in front of him, he fanned them out on the surface of the desk slowly and deliberately then he indicated each as he spoke. "Inverness, Oban, Jedburgh, Ambleside, Driffield, Ellesmore and Trowbridge."

He had barely finished speaking before Sherlock corrected him. "You missed Bretton." After the words had escaped he realised his mistake and Mycroft just smiled tightly as Sherlock huffed. "Damn… Fine, I got bored!" He threw his hands up in a 'sue me' gesture. "What did you want me to do?" Sherlock raised his eyebrow and Mycroft got his meaning.  _There are worse things Sherlock could do. There are worse things that Sherlock has done before._

>><<

**[John]**

John stepped into the hallway looking at 221A when he heard violin music floating down the stairs and his head shot up. He knew that it wasn't real, that it was just a memory but as he heard his own voice he had to remind himself.

' _What was it he said that you didn't understand?'_

 _'Oh something and nothing, you know.'_   _Mrs Hudson replied before she broke his heart. 'He said he had a debt to pay…'_

John blinked away the sounds, his face sad as Mrs Hudson opened her door and stood looking at him in surprise. He awkwardly raised his hand in greeting when he couldn't think of anything else to do, cleared his throat and, after one more glance up the stairs, walked towards her.

>><<

**[Greg]**

Greg sat in his office, his feet up on his desk and reading a paper.

"Bastards always know we're coming!" He muttered to himself in relation to the story before his phone rang, he threw the paper on the desk before fishing out the mobile.

'Anderson' was on the caller ID. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and then huffed to himself feeling guilty for that gesture.

"Lestrade." He said, unnecessarily, as he couldn't face not answering the phone.

_"Well, it's good to know that you aren't ignoring me yet."_

"Why would I do that?" His eyes looked around the room and he turned his head to see the rest of it. Then he shook his head and dismissed the ridiculous notion that there were cameras in here.

_"Look, can we meet for a coffee?"_

Lestrade rubbed his forehead knowing that Anderson probably wanted to discuss more of his theories but he couldn't say no.  _This was my fault, after all._

"Sure, usual place?"

_"In ten."_

They hung up the phone and Greg stood to grab his coat when Donovan came to the door. "Case?"

"No, I need to meet… A friend."

"It's him, isn't it?" She folded her arms and leaned on the doorway.

"Yes, I'm going to meet Anderson because I refuse to do what everyone else has and turn my back on him!" She shifted and stood up looking at the floor.  _Guilt._ But Greg felt like sticking the boot in.  _Less focus on my own guilt._ "Mycroft, John, Anderson and I all feel guilt for what happened. John, me and even Mycroft, who has never met him, feels for what that guilt has done to Anderson. You should feel both of those and you don't."

"I never said I didn't feel guilty about it?" Her face suddenly started to turn red, not from embarrassment, but what looked like emotion bubbling at the surface.

"Yeah? Well maybe you should tell your face that. Look, if he meant anything to you, Sally, at  _any_  point… Then you'd be there to share in his guilt. I know I will be."

He pushed passed her when he could feel himself unable to hide his emotion anymore. While he rushed into the stairwell to take a moment he didn't see Sally take a step into his office, with her back to the door, fix a pen on his desk that didn't need fixing before she took a deep breath. Her face returned to normal and she waked back to her desk feeling a little more distracted than she had been. A little more than she always was now.

Lestrade stood in the stairwell and thought back to the day that he introduced them.

_'He's in shock, Sherlock.'_

_'But he's not.'_

And then the day he had to pressure Sherlock into playing nice.

_'It stops being pretend if they find anything.'_

_'I don't even smoke!'_

_'Neither do I.'_

Lestrade even let out a little laugh there because the next thing he could think of was the two of them smoking outside the hospital. When John had tried it again. His smile fell.

_'Are you sure this is a good idea, Sherlock? Being in amongst all of this?'_

_'What else can I do? I can't just walk away knowing what he will do. I can't! I can't because I can stop it, Lestrade… I know I can.'_ And he did.

Someone opened the door and ran down the stairwell, it was a young police officer and when she saw the detective she stopped. "Sorry, sir."

"You don't have to apologise for running, this isn't school." He smiled briefly at her and she continued downward but as she slammed one of the doors behind her he thought back to falling off of Sherlock's couch and grabbing the remote to point at the idiot as he held a real gun to the wall. And when that same idiot managed to manipulate Greg out of his childish strop with Mycroft. He smiled as an image of his man popped into his head but then rubbed his head and exhaled anxious.

Mycroft evoked one response in Lestrade – a sick feeling – for two different reasons. One was butterflies which caused Greg to smile and the other was guilt which pained him so much he was almost in tears again on the stairwell when his phone went. He scrambled to answer it knowing that it would snap him out of the emotion. "Yeah hi, Lestrade."

_"You still coming or not?"_

"Anderson, yeah sorry. I'll be about five minutes."

>><<

John was sat at Mrs Hudson's kitchen table as she slammed various pieces of china down on it. She slammed the sugar down before realising.

"Oh no–you don't take it, do you?" John shook his head just once, a little weary of where this was going. "You forget a little thing like that…  _You_  forget lots of little things, it seems." John looked down guiltily which seemed to defuse any anger she was feeling. "Just one phone call, that's all I would have needed, John."

"I know."

"After everything that you went through I couldn't help but think…" She tilted her head a little in sorry annoyance. Annoyed that he had let her suffer for two years wondering about his fate but sorry that she had to mention it.

"I just couldn't-" John stopped and steeled himself as his voice threatened to break before speaking again. "I couldn't bear the thought that you… blamed me."

Her mouth fell open. " _Blamed_  you? John, I would never do that!" She put her hand on his arm and he quickly brought his other hand on top of hers. "It's not your fault. It wasn't then and it isn't now."

He lowered his head in a short nod and looked her in the eye. "I know that… now."

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Back in Mycroft's office Sherlock was dry and nearly dressed with his suit jacket sitting on a hanger that Mycroft's assistant had left on the door handle.

"What is this all about, Mycroft?" Sherlock stood tucking his shirt into his waistband and looking in the mirror.

"What do you mean?"  _I know exactly what he means._

"Oh, let's not play this game, brother mine. This deceit is obviously causing you enough stress to come and find me to put a stop to it but you have been hiding this from Lestrade since it happened so what has changed now?" He pulled at his shirt cuffs and then looking in the mirror he ruffled his hair, obviously unhappy with how it was sitting, then continued to fuss with it.

"There has always been this invisible barrier between us but I thought it was because of what I was hiding." Mycroft fiddled with a file in front of him – the Oban file – until his chair suddenly felt like the most uncomfortable thing in the world and he had to stand.

Sherlock leaned close to the mirror and pushed the tip of his nose back to look for any missed hairs. "But it's not?"

"No." Mycroft rounded his desk and stood behind Sherlock. "It's because we each blame ourselves for the other's pain. I would have held on to your secret and the pain of it forever but I will not stand for it doing that to Gregory." He remembered Greg's face when he had raised his voice and nearly cried outside of the Holmes' residence.  _I won't allow that._ "I will not cause him that amount of pain, not when I can fix it, Sherlock."

Sherlock turned to his brother. "You love him." That wasn't a question either; Sherlock had learned, over the years of working at The Yard, and more so when he met John, to not immediately verbalise every deduction.  _Something he will have to relearn._ "Do you want me to explain it to him?" He turned his attention to the suit jacket and then back to the mirror as he slid the jacket over his arms.

"No, give me a chance to explain it to him and when he begins to hate me…" Mycroft looked down where he was standing and Sherlock froze to look at him in the mirror. "Perhaps you and John could get him to talk to me again, like John did the last time."

"He won't hate you." Sherlock mumbled and Mycroft replied with a doubtful smile aimed at the back of Sherlock's head rather than his face in the mirror. "Do _you_ hate _me_?"

"What?" Now Mycroft was looking at Sherlock's face. "I could never-"

"I caused this, Mycroft. You would be justified in resenting me for-"

"No." He held out a file to Sherlock. "You did not do this from malice. You did this with good intentions."

Sherlock turned to take the file. "He and Gregory meet up every now and again for the odd meal or drinking session which has resulted in a few nights in one of our spare rooms. He's alive… How could I hate you for that?"

Sherlock's face twitched a smile at his brother and he opened the file before he burst out laughing. "Please tell me he's not keeping that?"


	3. Chapter 3

**[John]**

John took a step onto the street and huffed annoyed.  _She actually thought Sherlock and I were involved. She was genuinely surprised about Mary._ John brought his hand to his upper lip and poked it gingerly.  _Ages me apparently._ He looked up and down the street thinking about the first time he had hovered outside that door. He could have sworn that all the lights in the windows above were on when he walked up. He tried to think back to his first look at the building. He was sure he had heard music as well.

He closed his eyes and when he couldn't remember he pinched the bridge of his nose and put pressure on his eyelids. The video that Greg had dropped off to his a few days ago flashed into his head.

_'Of course I'm going to miss dinner. There'll be people.'_

He groaned and opened his eyes.  _This mind palace thing never worked._

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"Are you worried?"

"About what?"

"About how John is going to react, Sherlock?" Mycroft stood watching Sherlock inspecting his face for stray hairs.

He stopped and rubbed his hands together. "Yes. But what else can I do? I had no intentions of ever coming back but you need me to so I'll just go along to Baker Street and try to-"

Mycroft frowned at Sherlock. "Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. He hasn't stepped foot in the door since a few days after your funeral and that was only to pick up his stuff."

"Right."  _That was always a possibility._  "Where will he be tonight?" Sherlock closed his eyes for a second thinking of John's words at his graveside.

_'I owe you Sherlock Holmes and if you'll excuse me I have a debt to pay.'_

"How should I know?"

Sherlock opened them again and turned to his brother.  _The brother who came to me for help._

 _'I may not see as much as you but even I can see that Mycroft only comes to you when he's at a complete loose end.'_ Sherlock mentally shook John's voice from his head but his face didn't change.

"You always know."

"He was seeing Les Mis tonight and bets are he will stop off at the café just off of-"

"I know what one you mean. Have you thought about how you are going to tell him?"

Mycroft shifted uncomfortable. "No. I will wait until tomorrow to tell him, he has had a very trying week at work." Sherlock nodded slightly in agreement.  _He wants one last night. He really does expect to lose Lestrade after this._ "You will make sure that John doesn't tell him first, won't you? If I stand any chance of fixing this then it needs to come from me."

"You are really worried aren't you?"

"Yes. But then again, I have been for two years."

They looked away from each other, both of them unsure what to say, when someone cleared their throat. The brothers looked to the door where Andrea was standing holding a familiar coat. Sherlock smiled at her and turned so she could help him on with it.

"It is good to see you, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft's face. His face was a mixture of regret, pain and relief.

"And you, Mike." He smiled knowingly as Mycroft rolled his eyes.  _He hated that._  Sherlock turned and winked to Andrea before disappearing.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock left the Diogenes club and his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark after lying looking up at the light for so long as he looked around him.  _Too many people._  He took a left and turned into the first alleyway he could find.  _I wonder._ He patted his coat pocket.  _Good old Andrea._  He fished the new packet of cigarettes out of the pocket and found a lighter in there too. Lighting it he inhaled it like he never had before; it had been a long time since he had been able to buy cigarettes.

_Mycroft loves Lestrade, that's good, but this situation could threaten the future of it… That's not so good. I hope that I can fix this. I hope that John doesn't…_

He cleared his throat as a man hobbled up alongside of him.  _Clearly homeless but not one of my network._ "Could I bother you for a cigarette?"

"Of course." Sherlock handed the man one and lit it for him then he walked away mumbling his thanks.  _I had never realised how hard it was on the streets until the past two years. Especially if you have an English accent on Scotland's streets – they see you as easy prey, as all out-of-towners are. Adopting an accent served me well… I hope I never have to do that again. Stop avoiding the issue. John and Lestrade._ Sherlock blew out smoke with effort.

_'I wish that you weren't a reason in my past but in my future. But I wouldn't have a future if it wasn't for you.'_

_Let's hope he still feels that way._  

Sherlock pushed off of the wall and made for a certain café in a certain street where a certain retired medical officer will be having a post-musical dinner.

>><<

John sat at the window of the café waiting and looking at the ketchup bottle he was playing with. Sherlock saw him from across the street and threw his sixth cigarette in the space of an hour. John turned to watch something on the news on the TV and Sherlock crossed over the road. He stopped just outside the window looking at John wondering how this would go and if this would be the day that he gave John license to try to kill himself again.

For a second he flashed back to sitting in the ambulance with John unconscious on the stretcher. John started to turn his head back and Sherlock walked away and into the café.

Mary walked back over to the window bench and put various things down in front of them. "Your tea will just be a minute, love."

"Alright, thanks." He smiled at her and she put her hand on his face. He kissed it smiled at the ring on her finger. "You sure about this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" She wiggled her finger to look at it and then picked up her coffee.

He looked around in the café briefly, it was quiet; only two other people in the place and one of which had only just walked in. "Quiet tonight, isn't it? Mind you it's not really a popular place for after Les Mis."

Mary let out a little laugh. "Certainly not one you'd expect someone to order a milkshake from." She gestured her head to the man at the counter and John turned to take a quick glance before he took a double-take. The coat looked eerily similar. "You alright, love?"

He turned to look back at Mary and paused for a second. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Milkshake?"

She drank her coffee knowing that he wasn't really interested and neither was she.

"Tea?" The man behind the counter gestured to John and he stood to walk over. As he picked it up he took another look at the man's coat before turning to walk away.

The man behind the counter put a milkshake down in front of him and the man replied. "Thank you."

That voice made John freeze facing Mary, she looked at him confused but he just slowly turned to face the man. He dropped his tea. The glass shattered and the tea spilled over the floor, John's shoes and trousers. Mary rushed over, rounding him to his right from behind. "John? What's wrong?" She looked to the man he was staring at and then back to John. "John?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Sherlock brought his milkshake up to take a drink.

"Sh…" John cleared his throat. "Sher…" He tried it again as if his mouth felt so sick at even forming the word. "Sherlock." It wasn't a question in any way, shape or form – it was simply a statement made for the benefit of his mind which was desperately checking to make sure his sanity was still there.

Mary looked to the man as he put his milkshake down on the counter. He glanced to the man behind it. "I don't know what that is, but it's not a milkshake." Mary gestured to his upper lip and he realised. He picked up a napkin and began to wipe the froth from his mouth. "Does yours wipe off too?" Sherlock smiled at John, he had forgotten a few decencies in his afterlife but his smile remained apologetic and genuinely terrified.  _What is he going to do? Restrain me? Probably. Laugh? Not likely. Throw a party? Not a chance. Hit me? Yes, that one._

John looked down, shook his head a little and then looked back up to Sherlock.  _Just hit me already. Punch me in the face!_

"I know that you probably want to take out your revenge on my face but if you could do it quickly I'd be grateful. So, just punch me in the face." He gestured to his left cheek.

"What?" John barely even croaked the word.

"I said punch me in the face, didn't you hear me?"

"Oh, you bastard!" John drew his fist back and Sherlock closed his eyes.  _Brace yourself for pain, this is a sol- What the?_  Sherlock felt a pressure around his neck pulling him down a little and he opened one eye to see Mary smiling at him.  _John's hugging me._  He opened the other eye and looked down at John's hair.

"John, I don't understand? Is this a decoy so that when you hit me I don't expect it?"

"No, this is a hug because you've been dead for two years." Sherlock hesitated and Mary nodded at him. He hugged John back.  _He's not mad._ He looked to Mary's face, the look on her face as she looked at them – no, not at  _them_ , at John – said it all.  _He's found his reason to live._ "You stink of cigarettes." He pulled back. "Can I bum one?"

Mary just tutted, still smiling, as they headed outside.

"Oi! Do you want this milkshake or not?" The man huffed and left it on the counter as he leaned over to look at the mess on the floor then looked around for a mop.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft heard the door open, he folded his paper and put it on the end table as he looked up to Greg walking in the door of the sitting room.

"Hey." Greg leaned in and kissed Mycroft. "You alright?"

"Yes, thank you." He wasn't. "And how was your day?" Greg had that look on his face.  _He's so tired and run down._

He leaned on the arm of Mycroft's chair with his own arm resting along the high back of the leather seat.  _Like he always does when he's had quite enough of the day._ He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand and sighed. "Busy."

"Greg…" Lestrade looked down at him, probably surprised to hear the short version coming from Mycroft. "Are we okay?" Greg frowned at him confused. "Well, what you said the other day about you feeling guilty, I can't help but wonder if-"

"Oi, look at me?" Mycroft looked up at his partner. "We will never not be okay." He tilted Mycroft's head upwards and kissed him. "Ever. Okay?" Mycroft nodded unconvinced. "I'll go see about dinner."  _It is already made._  Mycroft stood and slowly followed Greg into the dining room.  _For what could be their last supper._

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock, Mary and John stood on the pavement smoking their third cigarettes waiting for the couple's cab.

"Who else knows, that you're back?"

Sherlock looked at John.  _Still standing like a soldier, straight and as physically precise as just before he got shot. Genuinely happy, in general and to see Sherlock, obvious from the dimples around the smile and eyes which Mary is clearly accustomed to._ He looked to Mary and the information flowed.

_Liar, size 12, younger brother, clever, part-time nurse, liar, short sighted, bakes own bread, Lib Dem, romantic, liar, cat lover, appendix scar, secret tattoo, disillusioned, liar, ability to be uncommonly harsh, engaged._

"Sherlock?" Sherlock looked to John. "Stop deducing her and answer me."

Sherlock shook his head. "Sorry, just you two and Mycroft."

"Right." He paused and took a draw of his cigarette.

"Why now?" Mary asked the question that Sherlock was scared to answer and John was afraid to ask.

Sherlock took a breath as John looked up at him clearly wanting to know the answer anyway.

"I uh… I had no intention of ever coming back. I thought that if I ever came back the reason that I did it… It would stop working."

John lowered his head and Mary took his hand.  _Reassurance. He let go of the breath that he was probably unaware he was holding in. It's working._

"But, Mycroft needed me to come back."

John looked up. "Mycroft? Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing… really. It's just him and Lestrade…" He took a breath trying not to think about how he may have ruined his brother's one chance at happiness.

"Lestrade, what's wrong with him?" Mary looked to John.

"He and Mycroft are together." He explained not taking his eyes from Sherlock.  _He knows what I'm thinking._

"Maybe not when he finds out that Mycroft has kept this from him for two years."

"If he's kept it from him for two years, why does he need you back now?" Both men looked to Mary in surprise. John in surprise of the point she was making and Sherlock in surprise that she got there so quickly.  _As quickly as I did._

"He said that uh…" Sherlock couldn't help it he pushed his tongue against his teeth and exhaled through his open mouth trying to control his emotions. "Lestrade blames himself for what happened and he's only just realised. You have to understand John, I had no intention of coming back and Mycroft knew that so he would have lied about this until his last breath but he won't let Lestrade suffer like this."

"He loves him?" John looked at a taxi as it pulled up and nodded in recognition.

"Yes." Sherlock looked down at the pavement.  _It's all my fault._

"Then fix it." They looked to Mary again.

"I'll try." Sherlock turned as the two made for the taxi. "He's telling him tomorrow so if you could refrain from-" He didn't need to finish the sentence as John nodded. Sherlock looked back at the café.

The couple climbed into the taxi and John leaned out the window. "Sherlock?" The detectiveturned around. "I missed you." Then the taxi pulled away.

Sherlock was left watching it drive away completely frozen to the spot.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft climbed into bed and put his arm around Greg before placing a kiss on his neck. The detective hummed in response and tightened his grip on the guilty man's hand. Both of them completely exhausted from… Well.

Lestrade turned to nestle into Mycroft. "Thanks for dinner, it was just what I needed after this week."

"Perfectly alright." Mycroft brought his left hand, the arm of which Greg was lying on, up and stroked his fingers through the detective's hair. "I just hope you're okay, I know you've been having a tough time of it."

"Yeah, one more thing and I think I might just flip." Mycroft closed his eyes as a tear slipped unnoticed, by Greg, onto his pillow. "But at least I have you."

"For as long as you'll have me." Mycroft croaked and Gregory started to drift off. Mycroft's phone beeped, Greg raised himself up on one arm where he was to allow his partner to slide over to answer it but he didn't lower himself or even open his eyes.

_Done – SH_

"You taking off?" Greg muttered.

"No, nothing important." Mycroft moved over and slipped his arm back under Greg who settled back against Mycroft, he kissed the detective's forehead who made a content noise before starting to slip off to sleep again.

Mycroft wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft got there early. He was used to that but he was so nervous that he wasn't sure if he could do this at all. He checked his phone for any messages a hundred times

' _Sherlock's explained it all, still love you.'_

_That would be a nice message about now, settle my stomach. Although it's completely unrealistic because above all else we haven't said… it._

Mycroft looked up as Greg walked in.  _Is it just me or has he gotten greyer since this morning? Just me. Maybe._ Greg made his way to the table and Mycroft stood, as he always did, they kissed and sat.

"You alright?" Greg smiled a smile that Mycroft was used to now but it still pierced his heart in a way he couldn't verbalise. It was a smile of recognition, a smile of reassurance and a smile of pain.

"Yes, are you?" Greg ran a hand through his hair and 'uh-huh'ed a response. "Gregory?" Mycroft lowered his head a little to try and catch Greg's eye line.

Greg's eyes looked to Mycroft and he knew that he wasn't fooling anyone. He sighed and put his menu down. "I just-I don't know, I just-" He sighed again. "I thought that I was a good police officer."

"You are." Mycroft looked at the detective slightly confused.  _What on earth would make you think otherwise?_

"No, no I'm not because when I got promoted I was so excited and I thought that I was so right for this job and that I could do it. I really believed that, I did. But then Sher-" He looked to Mycroft who averted his eyes and wiggled the menu in his fingers a little. "No, it's fine." Greg picked up his menu and looked at it.

"Why have you stopped, I want to know?"

Greg leaned in whispering through gritted teeth. "Because I can't, I can't-" His eyes filled up.

"Can't what?" Greg avoided his eye line. "Tell me, please."  _Stop pushing me away._

"I can't be the reason that your face looks like that!" He cleared his throat and looked around as a few people looked to their table then lowered his voice. "You say that you don't blame me for what happened and that I can talk to you about him but whenever I mention him your face…" He pulled at his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. "I can't stand being the cause of that face Mycroft. Of your pain."

Mycroft looked to Greg's emotional face. "What are you saying?"  _Don't be what I think you're saying._

Greg looked back at Mycroft, square in the eyes. "I'm saying that I don't know if I can keep doing this… Us."

Mycroft let his menu fall onto the table.  _No._

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

The door of 221 Baker Street thumped like never before and Mrs Hudson trotted to answer it. "I'm sorry, Mrs Hudson but I'm looking for John." Mary pushed past the land lady and was already half-way up the first flight when she turned to Mrs Hudson's words.

"Hold on, who are you?"

"I'm his fiancé." Mrs Hudson cooed an answer and Mary continued up the stairs.

"Mary?" Sherlock stood as she entered. She looked in the kitchen and along the hall. "What is it, what's wrong?" He searched her up and down for clues.  _Erratic breathing. Frantic with worry. Said she was looking for John. John's missing._ "How long?"

"John's not here?" She turned back to him but didn't need an answer. "He didn't come home from work today, I wasn't working today so I wasn't at the surgery. And, and he won't answer his phone."

Sherlock took out his phone and tried John's number.

"I phoned the surgery and he left at his usual time but he hasn't come back."

The phone rang out. "And he usually gets home about half past five?"

"Yes," She didn't even bother to ask how he knew that, "but I haven't heard from him since about lunchtime."

"Wha-" Sherlock didn't even get the question out before she showed him the phone screen.

_'Hi love, how's work today, busy? Xx'_

_'Y'_

Sherlock looked to Mary.  _It wasn't a question, it was a 'yes', could be indicative of how busy they were but someone like John would have text the next time he was free to apologise and explain. And not then disappear._   _Her face was flush with worry as she looked to Sherlock._

"You haven't heard from him?"

"No." Sherlock's mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and memories.

_'I missed you.' The hug. The milkshake. Turning to look at the TV. Six cigarettes, five cigarettes, four, three, two, one. The file in the Diogenes Club. 'Is he really going to keep that?' 'A shave, then back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.'_

Sherlock groaned as Mary put her hand on Sherlock's arm. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

_'I'm going to play dead – SH' 'I owe you Sherlock Holmes and if you'll excuse me I have a debt to pay.' 'Goodbye John.' Letting go of the key. Gun, pills, bus, pills, gun, Darrel. Jim. 'So you set them up?' Lestrade limping. 'Braver than invading Iraq.' The glass by the sink._

"Sherlock?" Mary moved to the doorway. "Mrs Hudson?" She called down the stairs.

_'Imagined debts?' Shooting the smiley face six times. 'Maybe it's too busy chasing after you.' The ambulance ride. 'And you were the medic?' 'I just did it again.' 'Oh god, yes.' 'The police don't consult amateurs.' The discarded cane lying on the kitchen floor._

Mrs Hudson had come running up the stairs and looked at Sherlock when Mary gestured his unresponsive state. "Sherlock? He gets like that, he just goes off… You alright, love?"

"No, John's missing." Mrs Hudson looked from Mary's tearful face to Sherlock

_Cocking the gun. 'Good evening, Captain.' Sister not brother. 'John protected me from that day on.' 'I don't smoke.' 'Adopt him? He's not a snow leopard.' 'Someone wants you alive.' Bearing his teeth. 'And what are you trying to detect?' 'But he's not.' Dog tags. Keys. Mobile. Wallet. John._

Sherlock's eyes opened suddenly to Mrs Hudson and Mary looking at him. He tried to return his breathing to normal.

"You back with us, love?" Mrs Hudson tapped Mary's hand reassuringly and stood back. "John's missing."

Sherlock shook his head trying to resort everything that had just rushed at him. "I know."  _There was no other thing for it._

"So what are we going to do, we need a strategy."

Sherlock agreed.  _Something planned and properly executed. Like in the army. And there was only one person to help._ He grabbed his coat. "Mrs Hudson, call Molly, tell her to meet us at the address I will text her. Come on." Mary followed without question and the two left Mrs Hudson standing there looking at them leave before she went to window. Sherlock tottered down the stairs. "Can you run fast?"

"Yes."

"Then keep up."

They left, slamming the down behind them, Sherlock took off across the street and Mary followed.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Greg poured the wine into the pair's glasses and the waiter came over.

"Sirs?"

"Yeah hi, can I have…" Greg looked at the menu, "this one, please. And another bottle of this in about five minutes, thanks."

The man nodded and turned to Mycroft. "And for you, sir?"

Mycroft handed him the menu. "I'm not hungry, thank you."  _BLANK._

The man nodded and disappeared. Greg looked to Mycroft. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that I just…" He sighed.

Mycroft leaned back and twiddled his tie which was the one that Sherlock gave him. "You don't say something like that without meaning it. At least, I would hope that you wouldn't."  _BLANK._

"Mycroft," Greg leaned in, "will you eat, please?" Mycroft didn't say anything or move at all. "Mycroft, you have to understand that it is so bloody heart-breaking to watch you suffer knowing that I caused it." Mycroft raised his eyebrows in a 'tell me about it' manner.

"I can't do this."  _BLANK._

"Do what?" Greg looked around worried.

"There is something that I need to tell you, something that I've wanted to tell you for a long time but I couldn't. I hope that, when I tell you, you will understand why I couldn't tell you but after the past couple of days I couldn't hold onto it in anymore. I can't even begin to explain to you-"  _I can't think. Nothing but BLANK._

"I love you too, Mycroft but that doesn't erase the fact that-"

Mycroft was frozen to the spot with Lestrade's words but that wasn't what stopped him talking.

They looked up to some people who had approached the table as Greg had spoken.

At seeing the first face Greg stumbled backwards out of his seat. "Oh shhh-"

Mycroft hadn't moved from staring at where Greg's face had been.  _He loves me and I've still lost him. I hadn't even told him and I'd already lost him._

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, I know I promised that I'd allow you the time to tell him but there's an emergency."

Mycroft put his napkin on the table in a bundle. "It doesn't matter. I've lost him already." He took a sip of his water.

Greg looked from Sherlock to Mycroft and then to the other two. Molly and Mary.

"What?" Sherlock looked to Lestrade and spoke very quickly. "Detective, you can't blame my brother for what happened, it was all my idea to save John's life which is in danger right now so if we could put all of this on hold and focus on finding him, please?"

Mycroft stood. "He's made his choice. What do you need?" He walked away and Sherlock glanced at Greg before following Mycroft who spoke to the head waiter briefly about his bill and they left.

"I'm sorry." Mary followed them and left Molly and Greg standing there.

Greg sat back down in his seat and Molly brought what was Mycroft's chair close in front of him to sit. "Greg, you can hate Mycroft and Sherlock later but right now, John needs our help."

"They don't need my help."

"I wasn't talking about them. You can all deal with this later but  _John_  needs you now. Come on, you're his friend and a detective."

"Like I said," he reached for the wine, "they don't need me."

Molly stood to walk away and then turned back. "I helped him." Greg looked up. "He came to me for help because of where I worked."

"They didn't need me." He gestured the glass and rubbed his forehead.

"No, they didn't go to you because they knew that, seeing John suffer, you would be too kind to keep it to yourself. Nothing to do with what you do."

She left Greg with a thoughtful look on his face as she ran out. After a second he huffed to himself and put the glass down. He ran out of the restaurant and looked left and right before seeing them gathered on the pavement outside the restaurant. The three facing him looked over the fourth's shoulder. Mycroft turned to look at Greg and then turned back, his face a little more solemn than before.

Sherlock looked to Mycroft and had to take a second to push back the bubbling he felt. He would deal with that later.

"So, what's the plan?" Greg stood beside Mycroft out of habit and then his face went white as Mycroft moved away from him to pace a little bit of pavement beside the group.

They all looked to Mycroft.  _I've lost him. Quite rightly._

"I have my people looking but I don't know where." He was talking to Sherlock and not answering Greg.

"Inspector?" Greg looked to Sherlock. "You have experience looking for people who do not want to be found."

Greg thought for a second, his mind racing with everything that has happened in the past two minutes, never mind the past two years. He tried to stay focused but his eyes darted all over the place as he tried to think straight. Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat, stepped forward and grabbed both of his shoulders.  _Like I always did._ "Babe, hey, look at me."

Greg stopped shuffling on the spot and looked at Mycroft.

"Look at me, just me, focus on me. Like we've done before, concentrate on your breathing."

Greg nodded and they both took deep breaths.

"Good. Now, you can do this, I know you can, you say that you are not good at your job but I know that you are and Sherlock knows that you are. Do you really think that he would fake his death to keep John alive and then put the same man's life in your hands if he didn't think that? If he didn't trust you?"

Greg looked to Mary and she smiled then to Molly who did the same. He hesitated before looking to Sherlock. Back from the dead.

"So, just focus and do what you do best." He paused and then let go of Greg.

Greg looked at where Mycroft had been holding him then to the man as he resumed pacing.  _There._

"We need to think of places that calm him or, equally, places that would upset him because he will go somewhere that comforts him or somewhere connected to how or why he's feeling right now. Are we assuming that this is because you're back?" Sherlock nodded guiltily. "There wasn't anything else that could have upset him?"

He turned to Mary and she shook her head. "But he was fine last night and this morning?"

"Delayed shook." Sherlock simply stated and she showed realisation as if she should have known that.

"Right," Greg took out his notepad. "Where would calm or upset him? Throw them at me."

Mycroft just stood watching Greg in action. He smiled a little.  _I've never seen this. It's beautiful._

 _The pub. His old flat. The Yard. Bart's. Angelo's. The attempt on his life that brought him into the station two years ago._ That was their list.

"Your grave." They all turned to look at Mycroft who was looking at Sherlock. "Well, if this is because you're back then that would have to be one of the more obvious ones."

"He has been there before." Mary looked to Sherlock.

Greg scribbled it down.

"Alright, can you…" He looked to Mycroft and the man took out his phone.

"I'll just go and-"

"No, you're coming with me." They all looked to Lestrade. "When this is over and John is save then we need to talk."

Mycroft put his phone to his ear. "No, you made your choice." He turned away from the group and spoke into his phone.  _No._

Lestrade shuffled a little as his throat got smaller.

Mary grabbed the pad. "John is missing and we need a plan!" She looked at the list. "Mycroft, you do what you do best and find those slippery bastards that know how not to seen. Greg, you go to the pub that you two always go to and The Yard. Molly you try Bart's and the place where you saved him two years ago. I'll go to his old flat and Harry's and Sherlock you got to Angelo's and the grave." She left before she had even finished talking shoving Greg's notepad back at him. Sherlock ran off, Molly walked quickly away which left Greg looking at Mycroft.

Mycroft turned to look at Greg, his face emotional for the first time since they had all walked outside. "I'm sorry." A car pulled up. "You will never know how much." He opened the car door.

"Mycroft," The man stopped but didn't turn, "this isn't over."

"But it is, you made that clear." Then he got in the car.

Greg took a step towards it and it drove off. He hovered on the spot before exclaiming in frustration then running off in the direction of the pub.


	5. Chapter 5

**[Greg]**

Greg ran along the road as fast as he could while the wind made his eyes water.

 _Yeah, the wind, that was it. Idiot, idiot, bloody idiot! Why did I say that, why did I say that I couldn't do it anymore? I couldn't imagine my life without him. But he lied. But I love him._ He grunted in frustration as he slowed to a fast walk and rubbed the back of his neck.

He approached the pub and ran inside, quickly wiping his eyes. The place was its usual 'empty but busy enough' self. He looked to the pool table and bar at the faces who turned to look at him bursting in the door. He searched them for any he would recognise. Then he walked a little forward to look along the booths but as he reached their preferred booth to find it empty he rubbed his head.  _It was a long shot anyway._

"You alright, Greg?" The barman looked to his regular as he reached for a pint glass. "Usual?"

"No," Greg shook his head and the man froze with the glass under the tap, "not tonight Howard, have you seen John?" He walked up to the bar and rested his hand on it. As the barman replied another man emerged from the bathroom, getting Greg's attention, still doing up his trousers and joined the group at the pool table.

"No, he's not been in tonight…" The man trailed off as Greg ran into the bathrooms. After a few seconds he walked back out rubbing his head again. "He missing or something?"

Greg pulled out his wallet and fished for a card as he got to the end of the bar where Howard had moved to be closer to him. "If he comes in, give me a call right away, alright?" Greg raised his eyebrows in question at the barman and the man nodded holding the card Greg handed him.

Greg turned on his heels and exited just as noisily as he had entered. The barman looked down at the card. "Detective Inspector? Well, I never." He wiped the bar and put the glass back on the shelf.

>><<

**[Mary]**

Mary was glad that she remembered John's old address, he had moved back in after he buried Sherlock but they spent most of the time at Mary's place when they first started dating.  _He hated that little room but it was better than going back to Baker Street alone. Or at all without Sherlock._

She approached the vaguely familiar stairwell door and tried the handle.  _Closed._  She looked around and remembered what she learnt before she used her shoulder to discretely force the door in. She took the stairs two at a time as she came to John's old flat door. She composed herself and knocked it.  _He won't be here but I have to try._

A young woman opened the door only a crack and, seeing that it was another woman standing on the other side, she opened it further. "Yes?"

"Hello, I'm sorry, my boyfriend has gone missing and this was his old flat I just wondered if anyone had tapped the door or if you've seen him at all."  _I'll never get used to fiancé._

"No, I'm sorry."

"I didn't think so but just please think, just to make sure, maybe you've looked out the window and saw someone just hovering around. He's a couple of inches taller than me, sand blonde hair-"

"Does he stand funny, like a soldier?" The woman interrupted.

Mary's heart jumped into her throat. "Yes, yes! You've seen him?"

"I noticed him standing across the road because he seemed to be looking at me but when I looked at him he didn't look away or anything, as if he didn't see me."

"When was that?" Mary pulled out her phone.

"About an hour or two ago? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying much attention."

"Thank you." Mary started to walk away.

"I'm sorry I can't be more help."

She ran out into the street and looked up to the window as she crossed the road. The woman was looking at her and when Mary gestured to where she was standing the woman nodded. Mary looked around to see what John would have seen from where he was.

 _"Mary?"_ The phone was answered on the other side.

"Sherlock, I'm at his old flat, the woman that lives there now said that he was outside about an hour or two ago, she doesn't know exactly when."

_"Where would he go from there?"_

"I don't know… I can't see anywhere obvious from here?"

_"Go to Harry's."_

They said nothing further as Sherlock hung up and Mary took one more glance up at the window before she took off down the street. The girl watched her wondering if she would ever know who the man had been and if he was alright.

>><<

**[Molly]**

Molly had jumped in a taxi to get to the same road that she had been walking down just over two years before and had done almost every day since. She could see it as plain as if it were happening all again.

She had walked from the sandwich shop and stopped at the lane of the 'T' shaped junction to cross. She turned to check if there was any traffic coming when she saw him, standing across to her left, staring at the ground. She would have recognised him from any distance and at any angle.

_The man who saved my sanity and my life. What is he doing?_

He looked up, his eyes full of tears, he walked to the edge of the pavement and waited.

_What is he waiting on?_

She crossed over the road and stood opposite him.

He looked to his left and then looking forward he closed his eyes. He took one step and she knew.

"No!" She dropped her bottled water and ran across the road towards him. Various cars screeched to a halt and drivers leaned out of their cars to berate her for not looking where she was going because they could have bloody well killed her. But they watched her keep on running without even blinking in their direction. She just looked at the bus then at John.

_He hasn't seen him yet. The driver hasn't seen John, he won't stop._

John only got two steps into his side of the road, the bus just seven or so feet away from him when Molly pushed him backwards onto the pavement. As she did so the bus clipped her hip and her effort was halved. That meant that the two of them never landed as far away from the road as she had aimed for. John landed with his lower back hitting the edge of the pavement and, as with whiplash, his upper body carried on backwards and his head made contact with the concrete. It knocked him clean out.

Molly stood where she had before she had crossed the first time and wiped a tear from her eye.

_To get to that place and no one knew. How could we have? He pushed us away, I know, but I still should have known just like he knew with me. Every time I felt…_

She took a breath.  _He always knew. Sherlock didn't even notice the pain her hip was causing her after the save, it had settled down by that point but I would have thought he would still realise._

She thought back to when Sherlock confronted her in the hospital.  _If he had walked into that toilet a few minutes before he would have seen those pain killers and he would have known. Not that he would have cared._

She looked up and down the street, down the alleys and at the bus stops. Nothing. She picked up her phone and pressed 'call'.

"Sherlock, he's not here, I'm going to check the hospital." She hung up. She knew he didn't have time to make chat with her right now.  _Or ever._ She pressed call again. "Mary, I'm here."

_"Is he?"_

"No, I'm going to check the hospital. Did you try the flat?" She walked along the road towards Bart's.

_"Yeah, the woman who lives there now said he was outside a couple of hours ago but he's not there now. Didn't Sherlock tell you I had phoned him?"_

"No, he wouldn't think to tell me. Or anyone probably, should I call Greg?" Molly's phone bleeped. "Hold on a second, I just got a text." She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the display. It showed the sender and the first line of text.

'Greg: Not here, trying The Yard.'

She brought the handset back up to her ear. "He's not at the pub, Greg's going to try the station." Looking in the distance Molly saw someone familiar. She had a thought. "Hold on a minute, Mary." She walked over to the man sitting on the street with various clothing on trying to keep warm and an old blanket over him. "Excuse me?"

The man looked up and clearly recognised her. "Yes?" He spoke in a mid-eastern accent that Molly couldn't place.  _Sherlock would know._

"I pass here every day on my way to work and you have been here for as long as I remember, do you watch everything?"

"Maybe?" He seemed clearly confused but he did look like he was trying to place her. "Wait a minute." He had it. "You're that girl who saved the man from being hit by the bus?"

"Yes!"  _Oh, thank god._ "Do you remember the man? Have you seen him recently?"

"You know… It's funny you should ask that because he  _was_ here, just standing over there," he pointed to where Molly had been standing, "looking around him for a while and then he walked over and stood there for an age too." He pointed to where John had stood before he had tried to end his life. "Only a little over an hour ago."

"Do you know which way he went?"

"That way." He pointed in the general direction of the hospital – if you weren't taking to the shortcut.

"Thank you." She dropped whatever change she had in her pocket into his hand before taking off towards the hospital and moving the speaker back to her mouth. "Mary, he was here just over an hour ago and he took off. I don't think he went to the hospital but he went in that direction so I'll check but even if he did chances are he won't be there now. I'll phone Greg and you try Sherlock?" She hung up after Mary muttered an answer.

"Greg, listen he was here…" She rounded the corner and made her way as fast she could down the lane to the hospital.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock had gotten to Angelo's before anyone else had reached their first locations. He walked in and Angelo was on him right away.

"Sherlock!" He shook Sherlock's hand. "Table?"

Sherlock sat down without thinking. "Has John been here tonight?"

"John? No, no! Is he late? I can bring over a candle for the table."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "No, I'm not expecting him but we can't find him."

He took out his phone as Angelo left for the kitchen.

_Anything yet? – SH_

He looked up as a familiar face crossed the street nervously. Sherlock nodded and the man entered the café. Sherlock gestured to the seat across from him and he sat. He was young, but maybe a little older than he looked, slightly dirty and tetchy. He looked around the café and then back to Sherlock. "Mr Holmes, you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, do you remember a couple of years ago I had a friend that I used to work with? A doctor."

"Dr Watson? Yeah I remember. Soldier fella?"

"Quite. Well, he's gone missing and he could be a danger to himself so I need to find him as quickly as possible."

"Of course, Mr Holmes." The man took out a scrap piece of paper, which seemed to be an old leaflet, and an old IKEA pencil.

"Dr John Watson, about five foot five to seven, give or take, in his early forties, has a military stance, evidence of a military haircut that has grown out, probably wearing jeans, brogues of some kind and brown, jacket and shirt underneath. I don't know anything else. He may be in shock so don't approach him just contact me."

Sherlock's phone beeped and the man left.

_Not yet, I do have footage of him at his old flat a few hours ago and on THAT road after it. It's been difficult tracking him but I'll find him. – M._

Then his phone beeped again.

_Not here, trying The Yard – GL._

He had barely finished reading it when a call came through.  _Mary._

"Mary?"

_"Sherlock, I'm at his old flat, the woman that lives there now said that he was outside about an hour or two ago, she doesn't know exactly when."_

"Where would he go from there?"  _Don't tell her about that road._

_"I don't know… I can't see anywhere obvious from here?"_

"Go to Harry's." Then he hung up.

He pressed the phone to his lip.  _John first, Greg and Mycroft later. I won't let them break up over something that I did but John first. He wouldn't go there would he? After the last time I really don't-_

His phone rang again.

"Molly?"

_"Sherlock, he's not here, I'm going to check the hospital."_

Then she hung up. Angelo came over and asked Sherlock if he knew anything yet and if he wanted to order.

"No, not yet. No, I'm fine thank-"

His phone rang and Angelo disappeared again.

"Mary? You can't be there already?"

 _"No listen, Molly spoke to a homeless man who seen John on…"_ She took a breath and choked back tears.  _"On that road about an hour or so ago, he took off in the direction of the hospital and Molly's checking but we don't think he went there. Tell Mycroft. I'm halfway to Harry's."_ She hung up again.

Sherlock typed out a quick text.

_Did you get all of that? – SH_

It was a moment or so before he got a reply.

_Yes. I'm checking. – M._

Sherlock got up and ran out of the café before heading in the one direction he didn't want to go. His grave.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft sat in amongst all of the cameras and wiretaps. It wasn't his usual thing but this was different, he wasn't about to let him lose the best thing in his life for nothing.  _John Watson will live for the next 30 years or so even if it kills me in the process._

He found the footage of John at the flat and followed him, relatively easily, to the road that they were never allowed to mention in the past two years.  _Mary's orders. She can be quite intimidating when she wants to be, it's hard to believe that John was the soldier in the family._

Mycroft text his brother and paced one part of the floor behind his men trying not to breakdown in tears while clinging onto the men's clothes for support.

_'I love you too, Mycroft…'_

The whole scene played out but that was all Mycroft could hear, repeated over and over before it got so loud that one of his men had to shout at him.

"Sir!" Mycroft shook himself back into the room. "Your phone, sir." The man pointed and Mycroft looked down.

"Did we get all of that?"

"Yes sir, checking now."

Yes. I'm checking. – M.

>><<

**[Greg]**

Greg bounded up the stairs of the New Scotland Yard, ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him until he got to his bullpen.

"Donovan!" He ran up to her. "John Watson is missing, he might be a danger to himself, has he been here?" She shook her head confused. "Put it out that I want this station searched and if you don't find him I want the word out to uniforms to be on the lookout for him."

"But we can't just go pulling units looking for hi-"

"Just bloody do it!" He roared at her as he pushed passed and made his way to the interrogation floor. "All of you!" He screamed as an afterthought.  _If you think I will let him die after what it has cost me. Who it's cost me._

He took the stairs two at a time at a run. He threw all of the doors open, banging them against the walls and getting everyone on that floor's attention. All of the rooms were either empty or contained a few uniformed officers.

"Listen up!" He bellowed down the halls. "John Watson, retired army man, was brought in here in shock after a botched suicide attempt two years ago. Blonde hair, about five foot sevenish and still walks like a soldier. Has anyone seen him?" He looked around and everyone shook their heads, clearly surprised by the panic in the detective's voice. "No one? He's been in and out of here enough, someone must have recognised him? I swear if he's been in here and someone fails to speak up it'll be your last day in this job!"

A young woman approached the D.I. the same woman who had apologised for running a few days before. "Sir?"

"Yes, have you seen him?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Why, maybe?"

"There was a man standing there by that door before." She pointed to the interrogation room that Greg had put him in two years ago. "I remember because he didn't look like he worked here or was waiting for someone but I did feel like I had seen him before and he kept getting in everyone's way since we've had more traffic than usual through here."

"When?" Greg took out his phone and dialled the first number he thought of.

"About forty-five minutes ago."

He muttered his thanks and ran down to the sergeant's desk. When the call failed he pressed 'retry'. He got to the desk and got the attention of the man behind it. "Man, about five seven, blonde hair, did he come through here?" He lowered the phone as it failed the second time.

"Uh, yeah. I didn't see him go up but I saw him rush out because he was breathing funny. Like he was angry."

"Did you see what way he went when he left?"

"He went to the right, sir."

"Thanks." Greg swept out the doors and into the street redialling Sherlock's number.

_"The Yard?"_

"He's been here about forty-five minutes ago and he left, no idea where though."

_"I do."_

"You do? Then why didn't you answer the phone, I tried calling you twice?"

_"Not me."_

Then he hung up and Greg looked at his phone. He went into his history.

_Oh. I phoned Mycroft._

He panicked for a minute then he realised something and got mad.

He redialled the number and this time it picked up.

"Heard that, did you?"

There was a pause.  _"Yes."_

"You hung up on me, Mycroft. That's just childish. We need to find John, then we need to talk. I mean it. Let's see how you like it." Then he hung up on Mycroft unsure of where to go.

>><<

**[Mary]**

Mary got to the door and used her key. John had given her it in case of any type of emergency, medical or otherwise. He never expected Mary to use it due to the fact that they weren't exactly on speaking terms since her last relapse but Mary wasn't going to waste her time banging on the door.

"Harry?" Mary closed the door behind her, quickly pocketing the keys, and looked around the flat, it was cleaner than usual but she could still smell booze in the air.

"Mary?" John's sister walked unsteadily from the kitchen into the sitting room. "How did you get in here?" She was holding an open can of lager.

"The door was open, you need to watch that, anyone could have walked in here."

Mary felt bad but she heard John's voice.

_'Don't tell her I have these keys because the last time she found out she changed the locks and when she passed out she almost choked on her own vomit because I couldn't get in. I had to force the door open. Thank god for Army training'_

"I did?" She scrunched up her face and brought her free hand up to her forehead. "I was sure that I locked it." She sat on the couch still looking to the door every now and again. "Is John with you?"

"No, Harry. I just came to see if you were okay, have you seen John lately?"

Harry sat slowly on the edge of the couch. "I don't… Em, I don't think so. What day is it?" She sank the rest of the can.

 _Oh my god, I don't have the time for this!_ Mary took a deep breath and tried to reiterate to herself that she couldn't tell Harry what was going on or she would spiral into an even deeper pit.  _And John does not need anything else keeping him up at night._

"It's fine Harry, just think, you haven't seen John today, at all?"

"No, why is something wrong?"

"No, not at all! I just wondered that's all." She paused and smiled reassuringly. "Listen, I have to go and meet a friend, I'll see you later okay?"

"You're going? You're sure John's okay?" Harry stood and walked towards Mary as she made to leave.

"I have to, I'm late. Yes I told you, he's fine. I'll phone you?" Harry nodded and Mary smiled before leaving. She pulled the door closed and heard Harry lock it behind her.

She walked away before dialling her phone.

"Sherlock, pick up!" She grunted in frustration as the detective's phone rang out before dialling Molly.

_"Mary, he's not here and Sherlock's not answering me."_

"Yeah, he's not answering me either. John hasn't been to Harry's as far as I can tell but I doubt she would notice if he did."

_"So, what now?"_

Mary spun around on the spot looking this way and that. "I don't know."

"I'll call Greg, you keep trying Sherlock."

They hung up and Mary kept calling Sherlock. After three unsuccessful attempts she decided to walk to Sherlock's second destination.  _He's probably in his mind palace like he was earlier. He will be sitting on the floor completely unaware of his phone ringing out._ She sighed and looked at her screen.  _Now, four times._

>><<

**[Molly]**

Molly had looked everywhere. She tried the mortuary, the canteen, the lab, the roof and even the smoking area of the building car park. She even surprised a couple of men when she checked the men's toilets. She flashed her badge and said she was looking for a patient which calmed them but they still took a single shake and departed quite quickly.

She stood leaning against the wall beside the windows that looked out onto the rest of the hospital. She hung up on Mary and sighed.

_Oh, John._

She took a breath before taking out her mobile and calling Lestrade. "Greg, it's Molly. Yeah, John's not here or at Harry's."

 _"I already called Sherlock but he was at The Yard about…"_ There was a rustling and she assumed he was checking his watch.  _"About fifty or so minutes ago. Where now?"_

"Well, Sherlock's not answering and he was going to his grave so maybe John is there?"

_"Surely he would have called us?"_

"It's Sherlock?"

They said nothing further which was a silent 'call me if you hear anything' and they hung up.

A doctor walked passed and recognised her. "Molly, what are you doing here, isn't it your day off?"

"Yeah, just looking for a friend of mine."

"Well, get out before anyone sees you and drags you into working a shift." They shared a smile and he departed.

She turned and, leaning on the ledge, looked at the rest of the hospital.

_Where are you, John Watson?_

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock had ran all the way there but now that he was outside the gates he was frozen solid. He remembered the last time he was here.

_'You told me once that I didn't owe my life to Jim or to Darrell but I think what you meant was that I didn't owe my death. Because now, I owe my life to you. You said that I needed an excuse to wait around for reasons to live and now I have one. You knew…You knew that after this there would be no way that I would do… that. So, now I just have to wait for those reasons you spoke of to find me. I wish that you were one of them. I wish that you weren't a reason in my past but in my future. But, I wouldn't have a future if it wasn't for you. I was one of the dying among the living and now… I owe you so much.'_

Sherlock had walked into the grounds and along to the path until he came to his headstone.  _Haven't had it altered yet – there is a body in there after all. Just not mine._

He looked around, with his hands behind his back, to the tree he had watched John from. His face flushed as he remembered the rest.

_'I just don't understand why, after everything, you would do that to Mycroft and to, to, to… to me. I just wish you hadn't done this, I wish I hadn't said to you that life didn't always work that way and I wish I had just nodded and let you talk me into it. You were good at doing that, "Give me half an hour." you said. It took you all of two minutes. It hasn't shaken since you… I will never understand this but… I owe you Sherlock Holmes and, if you'll excuse me, I have a debt to pay.'_

Sherlock leaned down on the grass in front of the gravestone and looked at the footprints in front of his.  _About the same size. He was here._ He reached over to the couple of butts on the ground and picked them up with his gloves on.  _Right brand. He stood here for at least… The rate he smokes?… Ten minutes, maybe twenty. So-_

Sherlock stood and pulled out his phone.  _Lestrade._

"The Yard?"

_"He's been here about forty-five minutes ago and he left, no idea where though."_

"I do."

_"You do? Then why didn't you answer the phone, I tried calling you twice?"_

"Not me."

Sherlock hung up.  _Must have called Mycroft through habit._ Sherlock closed his eyes.

_Assuming he went to his old flat first, over two hours ago, why? What is the significance of the flat? It's the first place he ends up after the war, it's small, dingy, enough but painfully so. No, what is the significance of the flat **for John**? It's the first place he takes after being honourably discharged due to injury after being shot in the shoulder during his first attempt on his own life after Jim died. So, it represents life instead of death but for John that is not a good thing. It's something-_

Sherlock's phone rang and he clicked it to silence the call.

_-he doesn't think he deserves, something Moriarty will never have, it represents John's first failure at suicide, the first step on his downward spiral of despair, failure and desperation. Filled with guilt, haunted every moment of every day and especially at night in his bed when he wakes up sweating and calling out in that very room, in that very bed. He's tried being shot, he tried putting a gun in his mouth and then he tried to swallow a bunch of pills. He-_

_It rang again._

_-felt even more of a failure so eventually he decided to put the act into someone else's hand. He stood on that road and stepped off the curb waiting for the white light. He went from where the mission he's assigned himself, to take his life and repay his debt, started – the flat – followed by the one place he came closest to fulfilling it. When he woke he was taken, under the illusion he's been captured, to The Yard, where Greg said he went next. Where he met me._

Sherlock's eyes opened for a second and he heard silence, except for a few birds and traffic, before his phone rang again.  _No, no, no this is important, I'm getting there._

"Shut up!" He clicked it to silent permanently before screwing his eyes closed again.

_He met me, he was forced to come face to face with just how low he had gotten and then I offered to change all of that. I took him as a flatmate and, eventually, a friend. However unintentional it was, that is what happened. We shared our stories. He told me about Jim and I told him about my attempt then he told me about Darrell. Not to mention the fact that he killed a man to save my life before he had even moved in. Then I did what I had to do but he hasn't been to Bart's. Maybe he didn't have to…_

Sherlock's head twitched a little and he brought up a map of London. He pin pointed THAT road: Smithsfield Street.  _Not usually one for buses but diversions that day caused a bus, which was behind schedule, to try to hurtle it's way along which was probably why the driver wasn't paying as much attention or he just didn't see John._

Sherlock saw himself standing where Molly had noticed John originally, as if he overlapped her image, she crossed the lane and then ran to John. Sherlock skipped forward two years and it became dark he imagined John doing exactly what he was doing. He looked to his right along the lane. He could see himself falling and John's cry rang out in his head. But Sherlock saw the way it  _really_  happened.

His eyes flew open again.

_He could see the hospital from there. He did visit Bart's but only to see Sherlock do it all over again. And then he came here._

_The old flat. Smithsfield Street. Sherlock's fall. The Yard. Sherlock's grave._

He closed his eyes.  _Guilt. Redemption foiled. Loss and more guilt. Redemption foiled forever. He's been working his way back from his suicide to mine._

Sherlock's eyes flew open again. "Oh!" He rethought it for a second.  _Definitely._ He nodded to himself, almost dismissing himself, and then left. He didn't run. He didn't have to.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft couldn't help it, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. He stood behind one of his men watching the monitor. He watched as Lestrade bounded into the Yard ignoring every greeting that came his way. On other screens the others were arriving at their locations as his men watched but Mycroft was focused on Greg.

Greg ran onto his level and approached one of his sergeants. She shook her head and he started relaying orders.  _He can't use officers to-_

 _'Just bloody do it!'_ The whole office turned to look at the detective as he left the bullpen.  _'All of you!'_

Mycroft raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.  _He never gives orders like that unless he's upset. Is it because of John or is it…_ Mycroft cleared his throat and turned his head momentarily to see Molly Hooper running around like a bat out of hell.

Mycroft's phone rang and he looked at the caller ID. 'Gregory'.

He looked up at the screen.  _Habit._ He rejected the call. And looked to Harriet's street but Mary hadn't emerged yet. His phone went again. 'Gregory'.  _He hasn't realised._ He rejected it again.

Mycroft looked as the other man was transcribing a conversation coming through his headphones between Greg and Sherlock.  _It **was**  habit then._

Mycroft felt a sense of disappointment in his stomach but not surprise.

Then his phone went again.

'Gregory'.

_He meant it that time._

One of Mycroft's men failed to suppress a laugh as Molly entered one door and two men ran out still zipping up their flies. Mycroft looked to him and he muttered apologies before tapping away at the computer.

He answered it.

_"Heard that, did you?"_

Mycroft paused.  _I hope he knows that it came through Sherlock's tap._

"Yes." The transcriber turned to Mycroft, looking for direction on a clearly personal phone call. Mycroft shook his head and the man pulled the headphones down so he could not hear.

_"You hung up on me, Mycroft. That's just childish. We need to find John, then we need to talk. I mean it. Let's see how you like it."_

He hung up. Mycroft cleared his throat and nodded as the man turned around. He pulled the headphones back up and Mycroft put his mobile back on top of the nearest monitor on the desk in front of them.

A call came through for Sherlock from Molly and he silenced it.

Another call came through for Sherlock from Mary and he silenced that too.

Mycroft couldn't see Sherlock because the cemetery didn't have very visible coverage at night but he had watched him stand at the gate hesitating before entering.

At this point the transcriber began typing a call from Mary to Molly. He looked to the screen and Mary had indeed exited her, soon to be, step-sister's house. She was looking around her helpless. Glancing back to the hospital screen Molly was leaning against a wall outside the gentlemen's toilets, clearly exhausted and upset.

Both women hung up. Mary kept trying Sherlock and he permanently silenced his phone.

Molly called Greg and they spoke briefly.

Mycroft looked to the screen to see Gregory wandering around the station car park and surrounding streets stopping various people.

Mycroft's man alerted him to his brother exiting the cemetery and he began attempting to evade Mycroft's surveillance.

_But he asked me to help?_

Mycroft looked to Greg walking back into the station, tired, out of ideas and upset.

He took out his phone and signalled to his transcriber. He cut the tap on Greg's mobile.

Mycroft dialled and watched Greg hesitate. Then Mycroft's heart broke just a little as the detective looked up at the ceiling holding his phone to his chest.  _He isn't sure whether to answer._ Mycroft looked at his face.  _Pain._

_"I said we needed to talk after we found John."_

"No, I know but listen. I've been watching this whole time and I need your help."

_"My help?"_

"Oh for goodness sake, Gregory! You are a policeman and a damn good one, you deal with this sort of thing every day except now we have four advantages to this one."

_"Four advantages?"_

"One – you know the person you are looking for on a personal level – you spend time talking to family and friends in cases like this but in this one we are the family and friends so you'll already know most of what you want to ask. Two – you already have your own network of other people who know these techniques, albeit not as well as you, but they're out there looking for him on a personal level. I'm looking at them now. Three – on top of the police officers now looking for our missing soldier you have my surveillance focused on every one of you and looking for John."

There was a pause.  _"And the fourth?"_

Mycroft lowered his head and left the room. What started out a whisper gradually progress to a near shout. "Well, I don't know about you but other than the obvious one I have a damned good reason for wanting this slipping bugger alive after everything he and my brother have cost m-" He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of how loud his voice was. "I am not going through the past two years for this to happen now."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"So, why don't we just put the government and police heads together and find a man who is basically both?"

_"You know what's been bothering me? If this is about Sherlock then why go missing? Why go to all of these places, why go to the old flat, which he hasn't lived in in about eighteen months, then where he almost died then where we met him? Why not just confront Sherlock? What is the significance?"_

"I don't know, the only thing they have in common is John and his suicides."

_"Suicides?"_

"His past attempts that he couldn't go through with and the one that led to him meeting you."

_"Meeting Sherlock."_

Mycroft could hear Lestrade getting up from his seat.

"That's it."

_"Sherlock!"_

Mycroft walked back into the room. "Pull up the footage outside the cemetery."

He directed his speech back to the phone. "You said he was at the station a little less than an hour ago?"

_"Yes."_

His man was already skipping the footage to an hour ago.

"Forward it until I say."

The footage began to fast-forward slow enough to make out the people going in, out and passed on the pavement.

_"I can't get a hold of Sherlock."_

"No, none of you can, he's silenced his ph-Wait, stop! Rewind that."

_"Is it him?"_

"Yes." Mycroft looked at the image. Arriving ten minutes or so after the Yard and…" he twirled his finger to indicate the man to let it spool forward. He paused it. "Leaving twenty minutes later."

_"Mycroft, he's going there isn't he?"_

Mycroft looked at the paused image of Dr John Watson on the screen. His back to the camera but his head turned to look back the way he'd just came.

_"That's why Sherlock's not picking up."_

"Pull up Baker St."

Sherlock walked across the street to his flat and turned to the camera as he opened the door. It was a look Mycroft had seen many times before.

_Let me handle this._

"Oh no you don't, brother mine."


	6. Chapter 6

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock walked home, trying as best as he could to avoid Mycroft's surveillance but he knew at some point he would check. He crossed the road and looked at the cameras, they weren't moving around unusually so Mycroft can't have been onto him yet. He gave his brother a look for when he eventually rewound the tape and saw it.

_Let me handle this._

He closed the front door but Mrs Hudson did not emerge from her flat nor was there any noise to indicate that she was around or, if she was in, awake.

He slowly climbed the stairs, deliberately stepping on the one that creaked.

_Nothing. No sound what so ever, anywhere._

He walked into the living room area, the other door closed, looking at the lamp at the far side of the room beside the couch. It was the only light in the room on.

_Oh, that was obvious. Should have anticipa-_

The sound of a gun cocking stopped Sherlock in his tracks but it didn't surprise him – even as the barrel was pressed to the back of his head.

"Good evening, Detective."

Sherlock could tell, just from his voice, that he was baring his teeth.  _PTSD or just seething?_

"I'm just angry."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"John," Sherlock slowly turned to face him, he looked briefly to the gun before focusing on John's face. Again the darkness was not his friend right now, he could not see him properly, "I don't understand this – you were fine yesterday?"

"Was I? Because, funnily enough, I thought that too. We laughed, we smoked and we parted. I got home and everything was still fine. Then we went to sleep and I was not fine."

"Sit down and tell me."

"No." John steadied the gun and Sherlock looked at it.  _Weighted. Loaded._  "Oh, it's loaded, Sherlock."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Unnerving, isn't it? Someone only has to look at you once and they know everything that is passing through your mind – even your innermost thoughts. For the past two years, every night I saw it over and over again."

Sherlock's mind threw up some images, projected over the scene that was actually happening right now. He could see John standing on the pavement but it was playing, like a film, on the John in front of him.

_'SHERLOCK!'_

"And then it became every time I let my mind wander, every time I zoned out I would be right outside that hospital again. Before I knew it I spent my whole time thinking about it struggling to stay in the present." He shook his head. "Oh, but it wasn't just all of that, I replayed everything that happened from the minute Jim died to the minute you jumped, Sherlock – the two deaths that were my fault. A million and one times over in my head and in my dreams… My nightmares."

Sherlock felt a stab at his chest as he remembered standing outside John's room that night and hearing the noises.  _Mumbling. Crying. Heavy breathing._ He opened the door and saw him lying on the bed writhing against invisible restraints. The single light streaming across the room and over John, the sweat pouring from him enough to soak his capped-sleeve t-shirt. Incoherent mumbles changed to cries of 'Sherlock' in Sherlock's own mind as Mary tried to calm John and held a cold wash cloth to his head.

"John, I'm sorry I couldn't see any other way to-"

"I know." John tried his hardest to stop himself crying. "I know what you were trying to do, Sherlock and without you I would never have found Mary."

"Exactly, you have a future now!"

"I said I know!" John walked forward a little and Sherlock backed up, they were stood in the middle of the living room with Sherlock's back to the window nearest the couch as he'd manoeuvred between the tables. "It doesn't change what you did."

"Alright." Sherlock put his hands in the air a little. As he glanced back to the gun still pointed at his face, more at his nose than his forehead now. "John, if what I did was a good thing then why are you so angry?"

"Because, because right after I thought 'This is it, nothing stopping me now, in fact now I have two lives on my conscience'." Sherlock closed his eyes.  _I was afraid of that._ "But I just couldn't…" The tears had begun to fall from John's eyes.

"How did you try?" John shook his head. "John, tell me, how did you try to do it again?"

"I, uh… I didn't try anything." Sherlock opened his eyes.  _What?_ "I thought about the million and one ways I could do it and really considered it. Even after we buried you I thought about it over and over but I just couldn't."

"So, why are we here now? Like this."

"Because it was all a lie! Everything!" John was spitting as he shouted.

"What was?"

"Everything! Everything you said, everything that happened and everything I felt!" John pointed the gun at Sherlock each time he said 'everything'.

"No-"

"Yes!"

"No! None of it was a lie, John!"

"Yes it was!"

"Prove it." He spoke quietly which seemed to bring John down a little. If Mrs Hudson was asleep he didn't want to wake her.  _Her coming up here would not help things._

"Prove it? I don't need to. You are standing here in front of me when I buried you, what more proof do I need?" He shifted the gun in his hand. "I could do it, you know?"

"Oh please(!) Killing me – that's so two years ago. We both know that you're not going to shoot me."

"You don't know that!" He took another step forward but Sherlock did not falter.

"Yes, I do. When we first met-"

"I know, I restrained you! You said that I didn't want to die and that I didn't want to decide who dies anymore."

Sherlock nodded. "That's right."

A small smile creeped onto John's face.  _Sheer anger or temporary psychosis?_

"But that was all lies wasn't it?" He beared his teeth briefly and went back to smiling. "Everything that happened was all lies fed to me by you so anything that I think or feel is lies as well. Right?"

"No." Sherlock shook his head, slightly panicking. "No John, you don't believe that at all."

"Oh, I don't?" Sherlock repeated his 'no'. "You suddenly seem very nervous Sherlock. Does the gun make you nervous? It's a bit different from the movies when a real gun with real bullet is really pointed at your real head and the gunman is really pissed off… Isn't it?" Sherlock didn't know what to say. "Maybe you'd feel better if I did this." He quickly put the gun under his chin and Sherlock made to take a step forward but as John dug it in he changed his mind.

"Now, John please, please listen to me. I know that everything seems so… detached right now and that's my fault and I'm sorry. Really, I am…" He trailed off as he looked behind John.

John glanced behind him at Mycroft and Lestrade but looked between them pressing the gun even further into the underside of his chin as a threat.

Greg put his hands out in a gesture to reassure John that they weren't going to do anything.

"The way you are feeling right now is my fault and I promise you I will do everything in my power to put it right but please…" He gestured to the gun. "Please don't do this. I know how you're feeling-"

"No, you don't! You don't! Don't you ever tell me you know how I'm feeling! Out of the four of us, three of us feel the same and all of our pain is your fault!" He pointed the gun back at Sherlock.

"The three of you?" Sherlock scrunched his forehead, a little confused.

John looked to Lestrade with a look on his face that Sherlock could only gauge was 'Do you believe this guy?'

"You don't even realise what you've done, do you?" Greg spoke this time and Sherlock shot him a look.  _Shut up!_

"You know sometimes you are such a," at the next two words John stepped and pressed the gun hard into Sherlock's forehead and virtually spat with anger, " _show off_  that you miss the stuff right in front of your face."

Sherlock looked to the gun. "No, believe me, I see it."

"I'm not talking about that! I mean the pain that you caused the three of us. Mycroft had to hide this from him for two years because of course he would, he's your brother and whatever they might feel for each other nothing can compete with that. He had to watch Greg every day knowing what he was doing and knowing that someday it would have to be said. He probably spent every waking moment treasuring Lestrade's every word knowing that one day he would walk away from Mycroft angry, hurt and upset. He came to you to put an end to this even though you say he knew that you had no intentions of coming back and he would have never had to tell him. So, he saw Greg suffering and would rather risk losing him to tell him the truth and put an end to his pain than to keep lying and keep him."

Sherlock looked to Greg who looked to Mycroft to see the older man shuffling uncomfortably trying not to look at his… Whatever he was.

"And Greg? He spent the past two years blaming himself for introducing us and not seeing just how vulnerable you still were. He would lie in bed at night fighting back tears as he watched Mycroft sleep thinking that he blamed him too. The guilt and frustration at being helpless and blind to it all transferring over to his professional life making him feel like a complete failure and unable to turn to his partner for comfort in fear that he would make Mycroft's suffering worse. Every pain he had swirling round and round in his brain with no one to lean on."

Sherlock watched as Mycroft looked to Greg who looked to the side and put his hands on his hips.

"And while this is all your doing Mycroft spent the past two years trying not to think about how he would explain it all, not that he could ever imagine how to do that – to bring his whole world down around him knowing that it was his own doing." John looked to the pair, pushing the gun a little into Sherlock's forehead as a warning not to try anything, before he turned to face Sherlock, tears beginning to flow again. "But it wasn't his own doing or Greg's fault. All those two are actually guilty of is loving each other and loving you."

Sherlock couldn't believe his words.

"It wasn't their faults; it was yours."

Sherlock nodded slightly against the gun as he imagined the pain he had caused his brother and Lestrade, just as John had described it. "It was."

"It was." John tightened his grip on the gun. "You died and I buried you."

"I know, I know and I'm sorry, I really am."

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry but John, everything was not a lie. It wasn't. Everything that you went through, that  _we_  went through together to get to that point was real."

"No." John shook his head, tears rolling off onto his clothes.

Sherlock shouted. "Don't you tell me that it wasn't real!" _He hasn't heard the footsteps, not even the two men at the door had._

John didn't say anything, if the outburst had taken him by surprise then his face didn't betray that.

"I was there, okay! I saw you and I couldn't walk away from you. Letting you do that when I know, I know what it's like!" Sherlock hit his chest twice and took a step forward when he said each 'I know' and John spoke over Sherlock for that last part as he took the steps backwards.

"You know, oh you know, do you?"

"Yes, I do! I sat there," He pointed to the armchairs, "and I told you about what I did, what I  _tried_  to do. I told you all of that because I know what it's like to get to that point when there is no coming back, there is  _no_  way out except for the pills in front of you or the gun in your hand or the bus in the street. Or in my case the needle in your arm!"

"I sat there and told you things too, Sherlock. You seem to forget that! Oh, but don't forget the pavement outside Bart's – that was your best achievement yet! A lie the whole of London bought. The famous Sherlock Holmes plunges to his death because of his trusty side-kick."

"Be careful John, you almost sound jealous."

"Jealous? Jealous?! Everything they write makes me sound like some loyal dog!"

Sherlock rounded on John, taking steps forward forcing John backwards as he spoke. "Well, don't worry no one is accusing you of that because a loyal dog is happy when it's owner returns after a long time away."

Sherlock looked to Lestrade as John was now standing in the doorway. John was struck dumb by Sherlock's utter arrogance and lack of tact, he fought to find the words and, as his body struggled to cope with what was happening, his gun-wielding hand moved to the side just enough, Sherlock ducked and Lestrade grabbed John.

The gun went off, smashing the window, as the pair struggled. John was stronger than Greg but, as he flipped Greg over his shoulder, he lost grip of the gun, Sherlock swiped it from John's feet then rolled out of the way. Greg came shattering down on the coffee table.

"John!"

John turned at the sound of Mary's voice in the doorway behind where Greg had been standing, he said her name but Sherlock shoved him, front first, against the wall and held a gun against his head. "Sorry, I completely interrupted the two of you, what were you saying?"

"Smart arse." John mumbled as his cheek was mashed against the wall. Sherlock looked over his shoulder quickly at Greg to make sure he was conscious then focused back on John.

Greg groaned and tried to move, Mycroft took a step forward to rush to him then remembered. He took a much slower step in the room and looked at Greg. "Are you alright, Detective?" Molly nudged passed him and ran to Greg's aid.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He groaned as she helped him to his feet. "You might need a new coffee table though."

"Mary, I'm sorry." John's voice was laced with emotion.

She stepped forward, half crying. "Alright, Sherlock… Enough now!" She swiped his hand upwards and Sherlock stepped back before turning and putting the gun on the kitchen table. Mary pulled John into a hug as tears of relief fell.

"Just as well that you were here, Graham; that could have got difficult."

As Sherlock turned something hit him hard and he spun around, catching the table for support.

Lestrade stood shaking his hand in pain as he kept the weight off of his left foot. "It's Greg." He made to leave, Molly holding him up and muttering about a trip to the hospital, and turned around. "Mycroft, come on we need to talk." Mycroft looked to his brother apologetically and almost feeling sorry for him before turning and following Lestrade.

Sherlock rubbed his face as he stood up again. "I probably deserved that."

John sat in his chair. "Probably?"

Mary stood looking for one to the other. "How do you two do this?"

They looked at each other then back to her questioningly.

"You just had a gun to his face!" She looked at John. "And Sherlock, well you just held a gun to the back of his head. John, you could have done some serious damage to Greg! You just sit down and they just leave like it was nothing?"

"I'm tired." John put his face in his hands and rubbed it. "So tired."

"John." John leaned out of his chair to look at Sherlock. "I really am sorry. I just couldn't let you do it, I couldn't knowing that I could stop it. I'm sorry I had to do what I did but I was running out of time. You had already tried it twice since I knew you and I couldn't risk a third. I am honestly sorry but, tell me what else I should have done?"

John just sighed.

"You wanted an excuse to wait around for a reason to live. I gave you that excuse and now it's up to you to find a reason to want to stay here." Sherlock looked John square in the eyes knowing what his answer would be.

"I already have, in fact I found two and they're both in this very room." He reached his hand out and Mary took it.

"I thought you might say something like that." Sherlock smiled and looked at where they held each other. He looked to Mary. "Congratulations." She looked at him questioningly and John just looked down. "On the engagement."

She smiled and looked to John. "You told him?"

John let out a laugh. "Yeah, in between putting the gun to his head and under my own chin." Mary's face dropped at the mention of John turning the gun on himself. "No, he's…" He smiled and looked at the man. "He's Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smiled back and looked for his phone.

"You forgot to put your collar up though." John stood and walked passed him into the bathroom and after a second a tap could be heard running.

Sherlock turned to look at the doorway confused. "I don't do that?"

John emerged with a damp cloth and put it on the counter in front of him. "Yeah, you do."  _Was that for me?_

Sherlock looked to Mary still confused. She stepped forward and, as he texted away, folded the cloth and held it to his cheek. He winced and pulled away a little. She pulled a mocking 'oh dear' face and smiled. A small smile threatened to appear on his face and he looked to John as she dabbed his cheek again.

John was putting the kettle on but his mind was elsewhere.

_Not over yet._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that is based on "The Empty Hearse". But this fic is far from over! Two more episodes left!

**[Mycroft]**

They got out of Mycroft's car outside the hospital and it drove off as Mycroft had ordered. He swooped in and put Greg's arm around his neck in an effort to support his weight a little.

"Thank you." Greg muttered to both of them.

Molly smiled and let him help, she was much too petite to solely hold up Greg who was feeling the pain now as he limped to the doorway with Mycroft's help. Molly ran along ahead to get a wheelchair.

"I'm not sorry." Mycroft looked to Greg a little confused. "For punching Sherlock, bastard deserved it."

Mycroft let out a little laugh. "I rather agree with you." He helped him into the wheelchair and stood where he was as Molly began to wheel Greg away.

"You don't get off that easily, Mycroft. Come on."

Mycroft sighed as Molly looked back to him and looked down before he followed the pair into A&E.

It wasn't long before she had managed to move Greg up the list much to the distaste of a few people in the waiting room.

A man walked past but slid to a halt as he saw Molly, his white coat flailing around his brown suit. "Molly?" She smiled and gestured to Greg. "Detective Inspector…" He flipped the chart.

"Lestrade." Greg added.

The man was still looking at the chart for a second before he realised and looked up. "Hmm? Oh! This isn't your chart, no I was just reading this bit." He turned to stand beside Mycroft. "Does that look like a two or a nine to you?"

Mycroft hesitated, trying to size up the strange man.  _Incredible hair though._ He smiled and raised his eyebrows in question. Mycroft looked at the chart. "I think it's a 'G'."

"Is it?" He brought the chart up to his face straining his eyes and opening his mouth to accommodate for scrunching his nose up then looked back to Mycroft. "Doctors' handwriting always amazes me. Smartest minds in the world but seem to be missing the basic function to break up letters. Funny, isn't it?" He looked to Greg who just looked to Molly. She was smiling fondly.  _He's always like that then._

"Dr Smith-"

"Oh, please Molly. How many times… Call me John!" He smiled.

"John-"

"Or some people call me Ten." He looked up at the light.

"Ten?" Mycroft inquired.

"Yeah, I'm the tenth John in my bloodline. John Smith junior. Well, I suppose it'd be John Smith junior junior junior junior junior junior junior junior junior junior." He smiled taking a much needed breath. Mycroft turned to Greg who was arching his eyebrow just a touch in reaction to the odd man.

"John, I think Greg has sprained his left ankle."

"What?" The man's face turned serious and he looked at Greg. "Oh, that's gotta hurt. I'm sorry! How did you do that then?"

"I fell over." Greg muttered.

Mycroft looked to Greg in surprise. "Greg?"

"Mycroft?" Greg looked to him with a face as emotionless as a 'Holmes special'.

John looked between them both then at Molly who just looked down.

"A friend of my brothers was having a sort of breakdown-"

"Mycroft." Greg warned.

Mycroft looked to Greg. "He attacked you, Gregory, why are you protecting him?"

Greg laughed bitterly. "Oh, so you can protect him and your brother for two years, lying to me about it every day and I can't protect John from being arrested for something he didn't even mean?" He looked at Mycroft with a look Mycroft rarely ever saw, and when he did it was never aimed at him.  _Anger and … No. Just anger._ He looked back to the doctor. "I fell over while intoxicated and landed on my coffee table."

The doctor nodded. "Is he alright?"

Greg paused. "Who?"

"The… coffee table."

"Yeah, it's fine. Just needs to be put back together and a little support."

They nodded and the doctor got Greg to lie back then take his shoes and socks off.

Molly excused herself and Mycroft followed her to give them privacy.

They stood outside the curtain awkwardly in silence.  _Never been alone with Molly Hooper before._

"Are you okay?"

She caught Mycroft off guard and he looked to her before sighing.  _Sick of lying._ "No."

"Tell me."

_Sherlock always trusted her._

"I would do anything for Sherlock because he's my brother but in the process I've betrayed the only person I've ever loved for two years." He sighed and rubbed his face. "And now… Now I've lost him." Mycroft was barely even speaking he was whispering so much.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do because after it all I will never forgive myself even if he does."

Mycroft pushed off from the wall and made for the exit as the doctor pushed the curtain back. However much they were whispering it was clear from Greg's face that he had heard every word.

>><<

**[Greg]**

When Greg emerged from the hospital Mycroft was leaning on one of the pillars to the entrance, it was something that people who knew Mycroft rarely saw. Just a shirt, dress trousers and shoes. His sleeves were rolled up above his elbows and he leaned on the upper part of his back while the rest of his body didn't touch the wall.

_Stress._

Mycroft tucked his phoned away and took out a packet of cigarettes.

Greg turned back to Molly and nodded reassuringly, she smiled a little and nudged the doctor standing beside her, who had turned the chart upside down – clearly unconvinced that it was a 'g' – came back to himself and waved as his hair bounced around.

Greg used his crutches to swing over to where Mycroft was. Mycroft looked up as Greg leaned the crutches against the wall, placed his cast-covered foot carefully on the ground and leaned beside the man. Mycroft held out a cigarette.

"It's sprained then? I thought so."

"Of course you did." Greg lit the cigarette and blew out smoke before holding out the lighter to Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled. "It's yours actually, I may have stolen it from you." They laughed knowing that Mycroft had a habit of that.

 _May as well say it._ Lestarde wiggled it and Mycroft took it reluctantly. "Mycroft, you're hurting me."

Mycroft turned to him surprised and then looked at the floor. "I know I did, I lied for-"

"No." Lestrade shook his head watching as an ambulance pulled up, the doctor and Molly – who was now wearing a white coat and had, evidently, been sweet talked into working – ran up and got to work.

_She was probably thankful for the distraction._

"No, Mycroft. You're hurting me because you're pushing me away and you've got me moved out of your house already."

"You said-"

"I know what I said Mycroft, but you said that Sherlock was dead so I think we're even!" Greg's breath caught as he saw the hurt look of Mycroft's face. He sighed and reached out for Mycroft's face. Mycroft pulled away before he could touch it and stood facing Lestrade. "See what I mean, why are you doing this?"

"Because you said-"

"Stop bullshitting me!" Greg pushed himself off of the wall forgetting about his ankle. He cried out at the pain and his leg gave way. Mycroft stooped to catch him, he wrapped his arms around Greg's waist and Greg grabbed his shoulders. Mycroft helped him step back and lean against the wall. When he went to pull away Greg held him. "Tell me why. You've lied for this long about Sherlock. Now, I am capable of understanding that but don't start lying about everything else."

Mycroft looked him right in the eye. "Because if I've lost you then I can't…" His eyes began to water. "I have to pull away from you now or I won't be able to let go at all."

"Mycroft." Greg's throat began to stiffen at the sight of Mycroft getting emotional and his eyes burned with threat. He glanced down at Mycroft's lips without meaning to. "I…"

"Don't." Mycroft tried harder to pull away from Greg as he looked at the ground.

"Mycroft, look at me." Mycroft tried not to. "Mycroft bloody Holmes you look at me right now!" Greg's voice was serious but still full of emotion. Mycroft stopped pulling away and hesitated before he looked the detective right in the eye.

"Stop. Just stop this… Guilt, that's what this is. This isn't over, not as far as I'm concerned."

Mycroft raised his head a little. "Really?"

"Really. We've hit a wall and we will need to fight to break it down but I can't just walk away from you like that because you mean too much to me. Hmm?"

Mycroft nodded as he choked back his tears. Greg put his forehead against his partner's and Mycroft whispered. "I'm sorry. I love you and I'm sorry."

Greg pulled the man's head down to his shoulder into a hug as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"Neat, don't you think?" Sherlock looked at Anderson from his couch as the camera kept rolling.

Anderson looked off to the side. "Hmm."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Anderson shrugged as his face looked underwhelmed. "Not the way I would have done it."

Sherlock folded his arms. "Oh, really?"

"No, I'm not saying that it's not an intelligent plan but I am a bit disappointed."

Sherlock sighed and stood. "Anyway, that's not why I'm here."

"No?" He looked up at Sherlock who just handed him a card. He looked at it and read aloud. "Monday, nine AM?" He looked back up at Sherlock in question.

"Yes. Your case has been reviewed."

Anderson looked to the card and back to Sherlock as his whole face relaxed in shock. "You mean… You got me my job back?" He suddenly grabbed Sherlock and pulled him close. "Thank you so much!"

Sherlock hesitated and then patted him a couple of times high on his back with his left hand.

"Why would you do that, after what Sally and I did to you?" He looked up at the detective.

"After everything you were the only one filled with enough guilt and remorse that you lost your way. I almost killed John Watson that day, I won't be responsible for you losing your life as well, Peter."

"Phillip." Anderson looked behind him to where Sherlock was looking. The maps and theories. "I couldn't live with myself, after everything that we did, knowing what you were going through. We may not have caused it but we didn't help either."

Sherlock paused for a moment thinking about the truth of those words. "Yes well, I'm back and it wasn't just me that got you your job back."

"No?" He let go of Sherlock and sat back a bit to look at him better.

"No, Mycroft organised it-"

"Who is Mycroft?"  _Can't have that many theories then if you don't even know who Mycroft is._

"My brother and Lestrade's partner." Anderson showed remembrance of the name.

"Your brother?" Sherlock nodded just once, trying not to grimace at the useless repetition, confused as to why Anderson was shocked.

"Mycroft organised it and Lestrade, me and Sally spoke in your favour."

"Sally?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  _One thing I did not miss in the time I was away; people needless repeating everything I have said for mere effect and theatre._

"Yes, you heard me perfectly, Anderson." He indicated the card. "Monday, nine AM but you have been reinstated at a lower level. It was the best we could do."

Anderson nodded. "Thank you, Sherlock." Sherlock made to leave and the man grabbed his arm so Sherlock looked him in the eye. "I really am sorry."

"I know." He looked to the walls. "You might want to redecorate." And then he left Anderson laughing to himself.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock sauntered back into 221B and stopped in surprise as his flat was full of the usual suspects.

 _John, Mary, Molly, Greg and Mycroft._ All gathered in the kitchen except Molly who was sitting on the couch behind Sherlock. He turned to look at her as he had walked right past her but she didn't even look up.

"What's this?"

"We are finally celebrating our engagement." John smiled and held out a glass of champagne for Sherlock.

Sherlock hesitated before he took it. "Right."

Mrs Hudson wandered in from just coming up the stairs, took a glass John handed her and sat beside Molly who looked up at her and smiled.  _Unconvincingly. She's nervous. Why? He looked at her… Oh. Not the only engagement then. Hmm._

He turned back to John. "Why?"

"Why are we celebrating?" Mary laughed and walked passed him to join the other women on the couch.

Sherlock threw his coat off and sat in his usual chair. Mycroft walked over and sat opposite him as John walked over, without blinking, to kneel beside Mary. Sherlock watched him then looked back to Mycroft who looked at him knowingly. Greg walked over, sitting his left leg on the arm of Mycroft's chair and running his arm along the high back of it.

"No, I mean why are you celebrating _here_?" They all looked at Sherlock who took out his phone.

 _I spread false hope, I know you're definitely not ready._ _I need to ask, nay beg like prayer, for that sweet mercy, Jr Holmes._ _Like, you remember, I long ago promised._

Sherlock looked at the text.  _Definitely for me then._

"Sherlock, you are lucky that you still have your friends after what we pulled." Sherlock looked up to his brother. "Don't poke the bear."

Sherlock looked to Greg then to John and Mrs Hudson. "Apologies. You're quite right." He smiled and looked back to his text, his smile quickly fading.

_Jr Holmes. Junior Holmes. Something something…_

_'Not you, Junior. You're done now.'_

"What's wrong?" Sherlock looked up to Mary's question.

"Hmm? Nothing."

She stood, pushed past John and walked over, Sherlock didn't even notice as she stood behind him to read the text.

"Oh, I think that should have been private." She laughed cheekily and walked away.

Greg and John started to ask what it was as Sherlock looked up at Mary as she walked back to her seat. Molly and Mrs Hudson looked on confused and Mycroft watched Sherlock's face carefully.

"Wait, did you understand that?" Sherlock sat forward as she turned and sat.

"Well… Yeah?" She looked like a rabbit in headlights. "It's a skip code."

Some piece of long-lost information popped up in his head. Mycroft just smiled knowing he didn't have to tell him.

"First word then every third." Sherlock looked at the text. "I… hope… you're… ready… to… beg… for… mer-"

He stopped talking and finished the rest in his head.  _Mercy… like… I… promised._

"What else does it say?" John looked to Mary and she just bit her lip. "Oh, come on!"

"Everyone's entitled to their own secrets."

"As long as they don't involve jumping from anywhere." Sherlock looked up as Greg took a sip from his glass.

Sherlock looked to Mary and then back to Mycroft where his gaze lingered for just a second too long.

_The Woman. THE Woman._

John stood. "Come on then, we'll have to go down." He looked outside.

"Down?" Sherlock stood and looked downstairs onto the street. "When did they get there?"

"They've been there for hours brother, as have we, you must have pushed passed them on your way in."

Sherlock tried to remember and shook his head.

"Maybe you just walking passed took them so by surprise that their reactions were delayed and you just didn't notice." Everyone looked to Molly, somewhat forgotten in the corner.

Sherlock stood and picked up his coat again. "As usual, the smartest person in the room." He looked to her. "Well, second smartest." He winked and she smiled.

"They want the story." John stood at the doorway expectantly.

Sherlock sighed and turned to Mycroft and Greg. "Em, I don't know if I ever said properly how… glad I am that you two are… you two." Greg looked like he'd just been told he had a brood of children he didn't know about. "And that I am… truly sorry for what happened. That you had to hide it, that you both felt guilty and that it came between you."

Sherlock nodded, turned and left the room in a stunned silence. John paused a second and followed him pulling the flat door to the sitting room of 221B over behind him, leaving it just a little ajar.

"That was really nice, Sherlock." John said in a voice just a little higher than a whisper.

"Nothing compared to what you did." Sherlock kept his voice in the same volume as John's.

John looked up as Sherlock pulled his scarf around his neck. "What do you mean?"

"John, all those things you said during our little stand-off… That wasn't for my benefit, that was for theirs. You were trying to heal what I fractured."

"Fractured? The fact that those two are still together is neither my doing or yours."

"What then?"

"Love, Sherlock. And a hell of a lot of work." John walked away and Sherlock followed him.

Inside the room every word was heard, Greg, who was still sitting on the arm of John's old chair, and Mycroft were suddenly supporting very red faces and very big smiles. Greg reached down and left his hand in the air, Mycroft lifted his right hand and they joined them. Molly got a text and smiled.

Mary nudged her. "Is that him? Invite him over."

"Who?" She looked up.

"Oh come on, love. You don't have to be Sherlock," Mrs Hudson looked across the room, "or Mycroft Holmes to see that ring." She pointed to Molly's hand and Molly held it out to look at.

"How the hell did I miss that?" Greg looked genuinely surprised and everyone laughed. Greg went red for a different reason and Mycroft nudged his hand smiling at him. "I swear I'm going end up working in Lidls." The man sighed and Mycroft burst out laughing. The detective looked at Mycroft and laughed despite trying not to. The three women looked at the two men laughing and genuinely happy. It seemed everyone was. One big happy ending.

But down the stairs and outside, standing in front of a group of reporters now explaining himself for, what felt like, the millionth time, was Sherlock Holmes. He turned to look at John Watson for a second as he spoke.

_Ex flatmate, ex blogger, ex crime-solving partner._

_John and Mary. Greg and Mycroft. Molly and… Whatever his name was. And then there was me. Sherlock Holmes; the world's only consulting detective._

He shot back to something he had read somewhere a long time ago and sorted away somewhere deep in the 'probably never use' part of his brain.

_'Being the only usually means being very lonely.'_

Sherlock glanced up to his flat where the sounds of laughter rang out, John turned his head to the left to look up too and Sherlock turned back to the reporters.

_Lonely is right._

Nevertheless he finished his statement.

"It's a trick." He smiled falsely. "Just a magic trick."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This now follows "The Sign of Three" from this point on, I'll tell you when this changes. 
> 
> Again with the announced POV changes but, in my defence, there are a lot of changes and it's just easier to tell you. Ignore them if they annoy you, sorry. Little short chapter for you. Bear with me, this will get longer and longer!

**[John]**

_"I'm sorry John, I have a new double homicide to cover so I have to work."_

"Just don't tell Sherlock or I'll be having my stag night by myself." John stirred his tea sitting at his desk during his little break in between appointments.

Greg laughed down the end of the phone.  _"Don't worry, this is the work of a serial killer who likes to send us letters so we know who he is and it's not even my case so no Sherlock needed."_

"You  _are_  coming to the wedding tomorrow though, right?"

 _"Yeah, of course!"_  John sighed in relief _. "I'm just covering for Dimmock, he was sent home yesterday. It's just one of those twenty-four hour bugs but he can't-"_

"Get off the pan?"

They both laughed.  _"Yeah, but I've already been on the phone to him this morning, it was a quick phone call though,"_ they laughed again as Greg tried to talk _, "to remind him that, bug or no bug, he **will**  be in tomorrow. I've threatened him that if he isn't I'll call in sick with the same thing and he knows how quickly that'll spread round the station."_

They laughed again but there was an element of sadness in Greg's voice.

"Greg, what's wrong?" John dipped his biscuit in his tea a couple of times and it broke.  _Bugger._ He tutted to himself and tried to find something sterile to fish it out.

_"Nothing."_

"Greg…" John warned as he gave up and when Mary wandered in he pointed to his tea.

The man sighed.  _"Hold on."_  Mary pulled a spoon out of John's top drawer and indicated it highlighting that she had put it there. He mouthed 'thank you' when she handed him it and pointed to her wrist as she went to exit.  _Yeah I know, not got long._  He fished the biscuit out as he heard rustling on the other end and a bang.  _He got up to close his office door. "It's Mycroft."_

John swallowed the first sip of his tea. "What's he done?"

_"Nothing, it's just… The only person in this station that knows about us is Anderson and that's only because Sherlock told him."_

"Why's that, don't you want people knowing?"

_"It's not me, it's him!" He raised his voice a little but still not a shout._

_Mycroft, really?_  John recalled their conversation in 221B about how Mycroft never questioned his own sexuality and that he never paid any mind to how others reacted to it when he was growing up. "It's your work, not his? Even if it was, I've never known Mycroft to be bothered by it at all."  _Wait a minute…_  "Is… Is that why he's not coming to the wedding?"

 _"Yeah."_  Greg was audibly distressed by the whole subject as if it was the only thing on his mind and had been for a while.

"It's not like your whole station will be there? In fact, it's only you?"

_"It's not just them. I don't understand it either John, it's like ever since that whole thing happened we have completely switched places. I'm the one who couldn't care what people think and actually want them to know and he's the one that lets go of my hand and introduces me as a friend or someone who works with his brother. This must have been how he left in those first few years."_

John could almost hear him rubbing the back of his neck in stress. "I don't know what to say Greg, I could ask-"

_"No. Don't say anything to Sherlock, promise me?"_

"Okay."

_"Promise me, John!"_

"I promise, Greg!"  _If he says 'on your honour' I'm hanging up._

_"I'm sorry mate, I just don't know what to do but I do know that I need to fix this myself. Listen, I've got to go. I'll text you if I get off early but I doubt it, that's another letter just come through so have a good night and I'll see you tomorrow."_

"Yeah I will, thanks. I have to go too."

_"Hey, no strippers mind?"_

John laughed. "No strippers, but we had this talk – Mary said she wouldn't mind."

_"But if I'm not there then it's not okay."_

_What… The station knows he's gay, they might not know about Mycroft but they know that._ "But you're gay? And they wouldn't be male-"

_"I wouldn't be watching them, I'd be taking pictures of Sherlock's face."_

They laughed as they actually thought about it for a second. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, Greg." Mary opened the door again as he hung up.

John picked up his tea. "Greg's covering tonight but he'll be there tomorrow." He took a sip and grimaced.  _Cold._

"Just you and Sherlock tonight then?" She smiled and John got lost for a second.  _She's perfect._

"Yep." He widened his eyes. "That should be fun…" She laughed and leaned over to kiss him. "Oh, you'd better be careful, if my fiancé sees us she'll go mad." They smiled at each other ridiculously. "Oh, alright then." He pulled her in for another kiss.

She managed to pull herself away and muttered something about him only having a minute or two of his break left.

_Cold biscuit tea, what can only be described as a stag duet and one of my friends in relationship trouble… again. Oh, there were the pangs of guilt – right on time. Why couldn't I just fix it for them? – I thought I had. We all did. Of course they would have to work at gaining that trust back but… Something else was going on here._

"I'm turning into Sherlock." John shook his head and pressed the button. "Ready, Mary."

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock was pacing the living room waiting.  _Come on._ He stopped when he heard the door downstairs open and close. He looked at his watch.  _Three minutes past seven._

John bounded up the stairs talking as he entered the door. "I've spoken to Greg, he's-"

"Where have you been?" Sherlock interrupted John whilst throwing his coat on.

John hesitated. "I was at work?" He looked at Sherlock in question.

"You finish your work at some point around five in the afternoon so why are you turning up here now, at seven? _"_  He dramatically showed John the face of his watch to emphasise his point. " _Three minutes past_  seven?!"

John looked at Sherlock.  _Smiling._

Sherlock looked at John.  _Why would John go home? Sensible Dr Watson?_

"You went home to eat, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. I didn't want to be drinking on an empty stomach."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "I should have guessed." He looked at John's shirt a little more closely then reacted with snide disapproval. "Oh, for goodness sake. I'm sure you could have waited until tomorrow night!"

John went a little pink at Sherlock's deduction.  _Sex._  He just shrugged and took a step towards Sherlock before mumbling. "Just sort of happened." He sighed. "Come on then, where are we going?"

"Aren't there rules about waiting a certain period of time after eating?"

John looked down. "That's swimming." He turned and walked away.

Sherlock put his collar down and followed him. "Is it?"


	9. Stag/Hen Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the stag night, how I thought it should go, and the hen night. There's drama and drinking. Yay!

Mary answered her front door in a dress but no shoes and screamed. The group she stood facing screamed back in delight brandishing various bottles of alcohol, they all laughed before Mary invited them in.

"Get your arses in here!" She leaned back and let the crowd, consisting of seven women and one man, in and shut the door.

>><<

**[John]**

In the pub that Greg and John often frequented Sherlock stood at the bar and the barman walked over.

"Two, er… beers, please."

"Pints?"

Sherlock lifted his hands and placed two slender graduated cylinders on the bar. "Four hundred and forty-three point seven millilitres."

The barman gave Sherlock a look wondering; firstly, if he was serious and secondly, how he was going to price this.

After a tedious minute or two Sherlock walked back to the table where John was and put the containers down.

John sighed and took his. "I've left my phone in the house." He give the container a second glance before taking a drink.

"Well, we can get it later." Sherlock flicked his coat and entered various information into his mobile.

"I can't go ba-" He paused at Sherlock's face.  _He has no idea what he just assumed._ "Sherlock, I meant  _my_  house, where I live now? With Mary… Who I'm marrying?"

Sherlock looked up with a blank expression. "Oh,  _that_  house." He looked down again.

John watched him for a second.  _Wow. Suddenly I have a second home._ He picked up the glass and downed it.

Sherlock looked up. "Slow down!" He started a stopwatch and put it on the table.

"Are-" John changed his mind. "No, nothing. I don't care. Get me another." Sherlock opened his mouth to argue. "Well, drink faster then!" He picked up the glass and shoved it at Sherlock who just sipped it. "Bloody hell…"

>><<

_"It's a nice day for a… WHITE WEDDING!"_

The group were sprawled around Mary's living room; some were eating various things to 'coat their stomachs' and others were fixing hair and make-up. All while trying to sing.

"Do you know what this is missing?" Mary turned to the only man as he stood fixing his hair in the mirror. "Men!"

All the women cheered and Mary laughed into her drink. "It's a hen night there's not supposed to be any men! Besides, we have you?"

"And who do _I_ have?" He gave her a mock sad face and she copied him in sympathy. "Come on, you must know  _some_  gay guys?"

"Sorry, I only know two." She pulled her shoe on over her right foot as the song changed.

"One would have done?" He turned, walked towards the couch and sat with his bum on the arm beside her.

"Oh, but they're both in a relationship," the group groaned in dislike, "with each other actually." Then they 'aww'ed. "Yeah, they're very cute together."

"How do you know them?" Cath lit up a cigarette and Mary glared at her. Cath smiled cheekily and offered her one as a bribe.

"Well-" She stopped as they all blurted out the next line of the next song.

_"Don't. Stop. Me. Now. I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball!"_

"Well, do you remember I told you about John's friend Sherlock?"

They all murmured that they did.

"Is he gay?!" Henry blurted out.

"No!" Mary thought about it. "Actually, I don't think he's straight either…" They all looked at her confused. She shook her head. "Long story. Anyway do you remember that John and he used to work with the police to solve cases?" They murmured and nodded again. "Greg is the Detective Inspector that would call them for help and his partner is Sherlock's brother." They all made general 'really?' and 'aww that's cute' noises.

"So that's how they met?" Henry plucked a party sausage roll from the table and nibbled at it.

"Em… kind of." They all looked at her expectantly and she hesitated with her mouth open.

Various versions of "Tell us!" resounded out among them and she let out a laugh knowing she had trapped herself.

"Fine, but you can't tell anyone because it all started when Sherlock and Mycroft's mum died…"

>><<

At this point Greg was storming out of his house and wiping his eyes as he walked as fast as he could out of the grounds and into the street. Mycroft stood on the doorstep, let his head fall sadly as he went back inside and closed the door behind him.

As Greg rounded the end of the gate he stopped and leaned on the wall with one hand breathing heavily. After a second he got mad and… Well, he sort of convulsed with rage and having no one or thing to direct it at didn't help. Eventually he kicked the wall and went to walk away but he quickly changed his mind. He turned back and kicked it repeatedly. He was grunting with rage and, quite frankly, didn't care if he broke a bone. He stopped when he could feel himself run out of steam. His foot pulsed with pain but it started to die down. If it had been his left one, the one that John had sprained, it would have broken on the first kick.

Greg pulled out his phone and hailed a taxi. He looked at his phone as he spoke, "Baker Street, please." He dialled John's number and pulled the handle to get in the taxi.

"What did you say?" The driver spoke in the mirror at Greg as he shut the door.

Before the phone could connect Greg leaned forward to answer the driver and accidentally cancelled it without noticing. "Sorry, Baker Street, mate."

The driver nodded and pulled away.

Greg looked down at his phone and just saw 'call failed'.

"Bollocks!" The driver looked at him and he slumped back trying Sherlock this time.

"Sherlock? It's me, I finally got away from work… Yeah, where are you? Oh right, see you there."

He leaned forward and told the driver the new address before apologising again. When he slumped back to look out the window his phone buzzed and he looked down.

'Mycroft.'

He let out a snide laugh, rejected the call and silenced his phone.

"Piss off." He whispered before catching emotion in his throat.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft sat in the armchair beside the fire staring at it as his eyes filled up with tears. His chin was resting on his left hand as his elbow rested on the arm. His right arm was extended so that his right hand was touching the other arm rest. His knuckles dug into the leather and his hand was clutching his mobile.

_You know where he is, just go and fix it!_

Mycroft would have thought it worrying that it was Sherlock's voice trying to talk him into being rational if he wasn't so upset.

_No, that would ruin John's night and neither of us wants that._

_What else are you going to do then? Or are you just going to let him get away when you've already nearly lost him once._

"But that's the problem!" Mycroft shouted to an empty room lifting his chin from his hand and letting his arm fall forward a little.

"What is?"

Mycroft turned his head to see Sherlock sat cross legged in the chair across from him in a shirt and dress trousers.

"Not now." Mycroft placed his chin back on his open hand.

Sherlock started in a sing song voice, "It's raining, it's pouring…"

"Stop it!" he shouted back at Sherlock who shut up immediately. He looked away from his little brother, lowered his left arm to lie on the rest and reduced his voice to whisper as he poked his left index finger into the leather and began tapping it irritated. "You know I hate it when you sing that."

"So what is the problem?"

"You are a manifestation of my own psyche, and a rather disturbing one I might add; therefore you already know what's wrong."  _Poke, poke, poke._

Sherlock brought his two hands together in a prayer position in front of his face and touched the tip of his fingers to his nose. "Just talk to him."

"I can't." Mycroft watched the flames because there was nothing else he wanted to look at and he didn't even want to look at that.  _Poke, poke._

"You'll lose him forever." Mycroft didn't answer. "Maybe that's exactly what you want."

Mycroft's eyes darted to meet his brother's as he stopped poking with his finger in mid-air. "Why on earth would I want that?"

"I'm a manifestation of your psyche Mycroft, I don't need to tell you." The brother simply got up from his seat and exited the room.

Mycroft looked back to the fire and remained in deep thought before he looked at his phone and pressed call. It rang… and rang.  _Poke._

"When I want to be alone you pop in for an imaginary chat but when I actually try to call you…" He grunted and hung up.

He hesitated for a moment before calling John.

>><<

"So they're okay now?" Cath was pouring drinks for everyone around the table who had all kicked their shoes off and were gathered around Mary like The Lost Boys around Wendy.

"Oh yeah, they will never break up." Mary smiled fondly as she brought the wine to her lips.

The group all made 'aww' noises and the solitary man got up to look out the window.

"Is it still bucketing it down, Henry?" They all turned to see him nod sadly.

"Oi, we have booze and we have music and…" Mary stood up on the couch grabbing a veil, which had an 'L' plate attached to it, on the way. She positioned it on her head. "I'm getting married tomorrow!" They all cheered and stood to dance to the music which had been turned down at some point during the story.

Cath turned it up for a second before they all heard a noise.

Mary made a hand gesture and Cath turned the music to mute. Mary then kneeled on the couch and shoved her hand down the side of it before producing a mobile. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, John!" She didn't look at the caller ID before she answered it. "Hello, this is John's phone?"

_"Mary?"_

She pulled the phone away from her ear to check the ID and then turned to look at the rest of the room as she spoke into the phone. "Mycroft?" They all looked at each other.

_"I'm sorry I was looking for Sherlock and he wasn't answering his phone."_

"Oh, I'm sorry John left his phone here by accident. Is everything alright?"

_"Of course, I was just… looking for Gregory."_

"Greg?" She walked back to her seat and everyone sat down around her. "If he got off work early enough he would have phoned and met up with them, I'm sorry I don't know what Sherlock had planned. Are you sure everything is alright?"

There was a pause before a very emotional voice croaked on the other end,  _"Oh Mary, I really wish you hadn't asked that again."_

"Mycroft, whatever it is, we can sort it."

_"I just… I'm sorry I just don't know what to do anymore."_

"Okay, listen to me. You are going to grab your coat, you are going to get in your car and your driver is going to drive you to my house. You are going to come inside, you are going to sit and tell us everything and we will sort it together. Okay?" There wasn't an answer. "Mycroft… It wasn't a request it was an order. Move."

_"Alright… I'll be about fifteen minutes."_

"Good." They hung up and she exhaled as everyone looked at her. "Trouble in paradise."

They all shuffled concerned as the door opened. "Hello? I don't hear the sounds of a party going on?" Molly walked in soaked and with enough alcohol to stock a pub when she stopped at everyone's faces. "What's wrong?"

Everyone looked to Mary. "It's Greg and Mycroft."

Molly's face dropped.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"You know this is the… the fifth?"

"Sixth." Sherlock wiped his mouth smiling as he put his empty glass down.

"Sixth pub we've been in and I don't feel a…" John pursed his lips together and closed his eyes while turning his hands palms up. "Feel a thing. I don't."

Just then the doors to the pub opened and they turned to see Greg enter. He nodded and went straight to the barman. Sherlock started to turn around but took a double take as the barman was pouring him a whiskey.

Greg sank it and then ordered another and three more pints.

 _Hmm. Triple._ Sherlock paused.  _No… Trouble. Yeah, that word._  He turned back to John who was smiling at his left hand.

"Why are you smiling?"

"This looks so normal." He showed Sherlock his hand as Greg walked over with three pints and no whiskey.  _Either drank it or added it to his frink. Or drink. Whichever it is._

"What the hell are those?" Greg indicated the cylinders as he put the pints down on the high table they were stood at. "And what is  _he_  doing?"

They both looked to John as he wiggled his hand about then noticed the glasses. "Oh, normal glasses. Thank you, normal Greg." He picked one up and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He pointed to Sherlock. "Quick, whatsa pint in millilitres?" He didn't care about the answer, he just kept drinking.

_Five hundred and sixty-eight point two six milli… milli somethings._

"They were to make sure we paced ourselves." Sherlock turned back to Greg with disapproval.

_Not just off of work so he's gone home. He's eaten. He's been crying. Argument with Mycroft again. Damn._

"Uh-huh and how's that working out for ya?" Greg indicated as John looked at his hand again. "John, what the hell are you looking at on your hand?" Greg took a quick look at Sherlock who was still staring at him. "Stop it," he warned and Sherlock narrowed his eyes before looking back to John.

"Stop it." John pointed his finger at Sherlock before turning back to Greg as if about to speak but then pointed at Sherlock again. He laughed to himself and then looked back to Greg. "This hand looks so normal right now as it is."

"Yeah?" Greg waited for more drunk rambling.

"But in a few weeks or months my hand being bare like this won't look normal, I'll be like 'Oh, where's my ring?' it's funny… A good funny."

He smiled and the other two smiled back.

 _Not just drunk rambling then._ Sherlock looked back to Greg.  _Mycroft isn't coming to the wedding tomorrow, is that why they've argued?_

John suddenly started patting various pockets and grabbed Sherlock's shirt over the table worried. "Sherlock? I can't find my phone!"

Sherlock pulled John's shirt too. "You left it at home!"

They looked at each other before slowly letting go.

John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. "Better have… or you are- Oh hold on, need to pee." He walked away.

Sherlock turned to Greg. "He's such a lightweight." Then the floor pulled him down and Greg caught him.

"You both are. Come on, sober up or you'll never make it passed eleven."

John calmly walked back over only five seconds after walking away. He leaned on the table and took a sip of his pint before catching Greg looking at him. "What?"

"You were going to pee?"

John's eyes widened and he slammed the pint down. "Oh!" He ran away to the back of the bar. Sherlock laughed and shook his head disapprovingly apparently unaware of how much he was swaying and Greg eyed him up wondering how much longer he would have to be the only sober one.

>><<

Molly stood in the kitchen by herself holding a bottle of wine lost in thought. Mary walked in but Molly was still miles away.

"Molly?"

She broke away from her thoughts and grabbed the corkscrew. "Coming."

Mary walked over to her looking closely. "What's wrong?"

She turned and smiled unconvincingly. "Nothing." Mary just raised an eyebrow and Molly sighed. "When Sherlock came to me for help I jumped at the chance to help John. To make sure that he stopped feeling that way and started to actually live his life. And don't get me wrong, I will  _never_  regret it." Molly could see how uncomfortable it made Mary. "Never. But I don't think we all actually thought about what it would really do. The way it has affected the people that we never even considered; Anderson, Greg and Mycroft's relationship… I never wanted to cause that? What if something that is so right and real is ruined forever because of what we did?"

Mary sighed and put her arm around Molly. "I don't know but we're going to do everything we can to try and fix it." She touched the side of her head to Molly's in comfort. "Hmm?" Molly nodded slightly.

>><<

After the pub they decided to switch to clubs and now they were on their fourth nightclub, Sherlock had abandoned the schedule all together and was out-drinking John but not Greg. And even though he was much more practised at this than Sherlock, Greg was beginning to sway.

They stood by the bar downing whiskey as if it were shots.

Sherlock exhaled and widened his eyes. "Wow!"

Greg just smirked. "I didn't know you could handle your alcohol, Holmes."

Sherlock turned insulted. "I will have you know that I could drink you under the table, I did it frequently to Crymoft…" Greg's face fell and he sank another whiskey.

John was giggling and Sherlock looked to him confused. "You called him Crymoft, Lershock. You're silly!" He poked Sherlock in the chest which took the detective so much by surprise that he stumbled a little and stepped on someone's shoe.

John put his hands up to apologise to the man as Sherlock turned to do the same.

"What are you playing at?" The man took a step towards Sherlock.

"I am so…" Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to think.

John butted in, "Sorry, he's sorry." The pair smiled at each other and John put his hand up for a high five which Sherlock tried to awkwardly shake.

"Are you two taking the piss?" The man took another step forward and sent Sherlock and John stumbling a little as John insisted that they weren't and Sherlock was mumbling half-deductions half-insults.

"Homophobic," Sherlock muttered then covered his mouth before looking to Greg.

"So what if I am, is this your boyfriend?" The man looked to John who looked to Sherlock as they exchanged irritated exhales, still swaying, and rolling their eyes at this repeated question.

Greg walked in between them as Sherlock tried to get him away. "No, they're not together but if you're looking for someone gay to pick on here I am, mate."

"Greg, you're upset and looking for someone to take it out on and normally I'd be right with you but John is completely pissed," Sherlock slurred the words as he stumbled and put his hand on Greg's chest trying to stop him.

John turned. "Oh, better watch Mycroft doesn't catch you doing that." He pointed to Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock tried not to but he smiled a laugh as he emphasised taking his hand off of Greg's chest.

"Mycroft? Is that your boyfriend's name? What kind of name is that?" The man laughed to his girlfriend who smiled, reluctant to disagree.

That was it. Greg took his chance – he swung and he didn't miss.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

The doorbell rang and Mary shouted that it was open. Mycroft stepped in and closed it behind him. He walked into the sitting room, where Mary had shouted that she was and stopped dead in his tracks.

"I'm sorry." They all looked at him perplexed. "I didn't realise you had company."

"Doesn't matter, come on." Mary hit a space on the couch beside her indicating for him to sit in it.

He hesitated as his mouth went a little dry. "It's really not a big deal, I can come back another time, in fact it's not even a thing to worry about I'll just-"

He turned to go but Molly, who was standing to his left, grabbed his arm and burled him around before gently pushing him in the direction of the seat.  _No, no, no…_ He stopped in front of Mary and sighed before sitting down.

"Tell us." She looked at him and, seeing he was still nervous, put her hand on his arm. "Two heads are better than one… Well," she looked around visibly counting, eleven heads are better than one?"

"I…" He looked to Molly who smiled reassuringly as his eyes began to fill with tears again.  _What else am I going to do?_  "I love him… But I almost lost him once and I'm afraid that I've lost him again." He closed his eyes and the tears began to fall.

Henry picked up a half empty bottle of wine to pour as Mycroft opened his eyes again. "Got any whiskey?" He leaned forward running his hands down the front of his lower legs until he was touching his shoes as Mary rubbed his back. Henry picked up a glass and handed it to Cath who had the whiskey bottle.

She poured and handed Mycroft it. He thanked her and downed it. He swallowed and then his face contorted as he looked at the glass. "Oh that's awful, how can he like this stuff?" Mary looked sadly at Henry as Mycroft held out the glass to Cath. "Keep it coming." He wiped his tears on the sleeves of his jumper.

"Mycroft, tell us from the beginning." Molly sat down on the floor across the coffee table from him with her wine glass and Henry to her left.

"Okay…" He exhaled and sat up properly.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

After they were thrown out and Sherlock managed to get a hold of Anderson, the police were cancelled and they made their way back to Baker Street.

Bundling in the door the three of them made their way up the stairs all hushing each other not to wake Mrs Hudson up.

John walked in and sat down in an armchair.

"What now?" Greg looked to John and Sherlock who were looking at each other confused.

John looked down as he patted the arm rests. "This isn't mine, is it?"

Sherlock just shook his head and shooed John from his chair even though he did not then sit in it. John plonked himself down in his own and smiled as he felt comfier.

"Hello? Earth to the consulting lightweights?"

"We could play a game?" John looked around the room as if there were more people around them.

"Wha-" Greg put his hand on his hip but it slipped and he stumbled a little. "What kind of game?"

"Drinking game!" Sherlock ran to his laptop. "I came across a pebwage earlier, hold on." John chuckled as he leaned on his right fist and looked at Greg who tried not to smile but John was making it hard. "Buzz… Fuzzy Duck…" John giggled again and Greg screwed his face to the side trying not to laugh too. "I'm going camping… Would you rather… I have never…"

John made a noise of recognition and pointed to Sherlock who looked up. "I know that one! Do-do-" He tried to push himself to sit up but couldn't quite manage it. "Do you know that one?" He pointed to Greg.

"Everyone knows that one." They looked to Sherlock. "I take it you don't?"

He stood. "As a matter of fact…" He looked down confused as he slowly started to lose his balance and he stumbled trying to act like he meant it. "As a matter of fact I do, I could always tell who hadn't done what."

John gestured with his hands, as if he had just won a point that no one was arguing.

"Fine then. Let's play it?" Greg looked to them both unsure as to how he ended up agreeing to this.

Sherlock went to the kitchen as John tried as hard as he could to get out of his chair. He had given up trying to push himself up off of it so he decided to try sliding down it which was, evidently, proving more difficult than he first thought.

Greg let out a little laugh and sat on the couch. As John reached the floor Sherlock wandered back through with three glasses, a bottle of whiskey, which Greg eyed up greedily, and a spare bottle of some green stuff. That bottle was covered in dust but Sherlock didn't bother to wipe it.

John crawled along and settled on the floor in front of the re-assembled coffee table while the other two sat on the couch.

"What is that?" Greg nodded his head to it.

"I'm not sure…" Sherlock eyed it closely as he passed behind John to stand on Greg's right. "Ab…" He sat down and tried again. "Absinthe?" He shrugged as he put it down.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" Sherlock turned to look at Greg in query as John reached for the bottle. He looked at it with awe that Greg tried not to find just as funny as his giggling. "It's like seventy-odd proof." He took the bottle from John as he tried to open it. "Let's just keep this for later, eh?" He put it down the side of the couch to his left.

Sherlock's face looked like a teenager's who had just been told no and didn't like it while John replied with a 'wasn't even interested, I swear' gesture. Followed by a giggle, that Greg assumed he thought was only audible to himself, knowing that he was a bloody liar.

"Alright…" Sherlock poured the whiskey and held his glass up. "What are we- Hey!" He leaned forward and stopped John drinking. "We only drink if we've done it!"

"Okay, okay… I'll go first?" John offered. "I've never been a soldier." He giggled and took a drink.

Greg let himself smile as Sherlock almost took a drink, thought about it and decided that he had indeed never been a soldier.

"Thatwasadream," he mumbled. "Me? Me!" Sherlock shuffled back a bit. "I have never… investigated a crime."

They all drank and then looked to Greg.

"I have never been married." He drank and they watched John as he took a drink.

"Oh, wait!" He giggled. "That hasn't happened yet." He laughed again. "Oh, me! Let me go, let  _me_  go!" He put his hand out to shut Sherlock up and Sherlock just looked at Greg to mentally ask if he had been talking. Greg just shook his head. "I have never had a stag night."

He and Greg drank.

Sherlock looked at John. "Technically you haven't  _had_  a stag night you are  _having_ one."

"Six and three dozen," John muttered and took another sip.

"I have never had sex…" John and Greg lifted the glasses to their lips. "With a man." John huffed as Greg drank and smirked at him.

After nearly a third of a bottle later Greg was more hammered than the other two. Even though he had drank more than them when they had walked into Baker Street he hadn't really seemed it until the game had got going.  _Nothing to do with me at all. No. Oh, hello cognitive function. Welcome back._

"I have never…"

John stopped him. "Choose something that I can drink to too!"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock looked at John, slightly more sober than they had been earlier.  _Rumbled._

"The ones you say, only Greg drinks."

"You drank at the last one!"  _Shut up, mig bouth. Hmm._

"I wasn't supposed to! 'I have never had an argument with a partner over Sherlock Holme's fake death'? Who else would drink to that?" John laughed, drunk enough that he hadn't figured out Sherlock's plan yet because sober John would have guessed it on the first question.  _Maybe the second._

"Here… You trying to get me drunk Sherlock?" Greg slurred. "Why?"

Sherlock poured more into Greg's glass. "Because we find it harder to lie when we're intoxicated."

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?" Greg picked up his glass and brought it to his lips. "Will you just play the game?"

"I have never stormed out of my house because I've finished with my boyfriend."

Greg froze before the glass touched his lips and John looked from Sherlock to Greg, his face sobering more.

Greg looked to John then back at Sherlock. He sighed, shrugged and downed the glass.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

"Mycroft, I don't understand?" The group all murmured their agreement and nodded looking from Mary to Mycroft. "I thought you grew up without having to worry about your sexuality?"

"Well, I did. After a while." They looked at him again. "Sherlock kind of…" He looked down. "He fought a gang of jock-types who had planned to beat me up. After that people avoided me or became false friends." He looked at the group. "Sherlock can be quite deadly when he wants to be." He smiled a little at the memory of the anger on Sherlock's face whenever Mycroft was confronted because he was gay.

"Sorry… I still don't- John told me about that time you came to Sherlock, when you and Greg first started out. He said that you were completely unbothered by it and it was Greg's struggle that was the problem?"

"Yes." Again Mycroft looked to the puzzled faces around him. "Gregory and I were friends first as I'm sure you already know…" Mary looked down guiltily so Mycroft took her hand reassuringly and she squeezed back. "It's alright. He didn't know who he was and I did. It meant that we didn't exactly have a very smooth start but we got past it, then everything with Sherlock happened and everything changed."

"What changed?" Molly tried to hide her guilt but was failing miserably.

Mycroft thought about it. He already knew what had changed but admitting it would mean admitting that everything was, again, his doing.  _Why deny it?_

"When I realised that Greg blamed himself for Sherlock's suicide I had to stop it. It didn't matter if he never wanted to see me again I just had to stop his pain. So I found Sherlock and asked him to come back. I asked Sherlock to allow  _me_  to tell Gregory and well, you know that that didn't work out as planned."

Mary looked guilty again. "I'm not sorry Mycroft." She looked at him genuine but not hard. "We had to find him."

He put his hand on her arm. "No, no! I'm not sorry about it either." They smiled and he reached for his drink. "It didn't matter anyway."

"What  _did_  happen at that meal before we burst in because he was torn up and you looked like you were ready to be sick?"

"He was saying that he wasn't sure if he was good enough for his job now that Sherlock was dead. When he mentioned Sherlock, just like every time since the jump, I felt sick with guilt and it must have shown because he stopped talking about it. He said that he couldn't be the reason that my face looked like that." Mycroft started to tear up and Mary began rubbing his back again. "He thought that I blamed him and he felt that he couldn't talk to me about it. He  _actually_  thought I blamed him. Not only that it was his fault but that I would…" He put his hand to his chest and couldn't finish his sentence. The woman to Molly's right handed Mycroft a tissue and he took it. "Thank you." He wiped his eyes and briefly rubbed his nose. "When I asked him what he was saying he said that he didn't think he could do it anymore."

"Do what?"

Mycroft looked to Molly. "Us." They all looked at each other as he took a sip. "Then he ordered food like everything was normal. My whole world had just dissolved and he was ordering a steak and wine. He said he didn't mean it but… How can you be in a relationship with someone who's supposed to mean something to you and just say that without meaning it? He meant it."

"Mike," Henry leaned up on his knees and Mycroft didn't care about the nickname, "the pain on his face that you saw and considered your doing? The pain that you risked losing him just to take away? That's what he saw in your face, he was lost and was just grasping at ways to stop that. Just like you were."

They all mumbled agreeing and nodded.

"He would rather lose you than cause you any more pain."

"It means you both love each other."

Mycroft thought back to the conversation. "When I said to him that there was something I had been wanting to tell him for a long time he said, 'I love you too but it doesn't erase the fact that…' he never finished that sentence because Sherlock approached the table."

"See? It doesn't mean you've lost him at all." Mary smiled at him and he looked back sad.

"It does." They all protested. "He might not have meant it that night but he meant it tonight." He took another drink. "He said, 'I can't do this anymore' and left." He smiled wearily as fresh tears poured down his cheeks and then he sank his glass. Mary pulled him into an embrace as his body betrayed everything he had been feeling that night. He sobbed into Mary's shoulder as the rest of the room crowded round trying to offer sympathies.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"We're… I'm…" Greg cleared his throat. "We are not doing this, Sherlock."

"Whoa, did you and Mycroft break up?" John lifted himself to kneeling and took Greg's glass away from him to set it down on the table. "Greg?"

Greg looked away annoyed and then snapped back to John. "Yes, alright?" He turned to Sherlock. "You happy now? Yes, we have."

"Why would that make me happy?" Sherlock was genuinely hurt by that. It was the last thing he wanted.

"Because you just can't let people have their secrets can you? You need to know everything, you need to be in at every detail. I'd still be married to Kate if it wasn't for you and your 'she's chucked you out for the last time' business." He stood up and walked towards the armchairs before turning the top half of his body to Sherlock. "I would never have even thought that me and Mycroft…" He caught himself and turned back.

"Listen," John stood up, "I know that Sherlock can be a bit invasive but-"

"You're just as bad, John!" John looked at him taken aback. "The both of you, you need to know everything. It's because of you two that this is over!"

"You think we don't know that?" Greg turned to John. "Do you seriously think that I don't worry about you two every night? About how because I couldn't just smile and nod and he couldn't sit and let me destroy myself that we may have collectively ruined the purest thing I've ever seen?" Greg just looked at John with his expression blank but still angry. "Look at him!" He pointed to Sherlock.

He was sat slightly hunched and running his hands down the fronts of his lower legs until he was touching his shoes, the guilt was evident in his face and he was averting his gaze that had been on Greg until John pointed him out.

Greg suddenly saw Mycroft sitting there doing the exact same thing when he was upset. He felt the anger decrease a little but he still stood directing his body in between Sherlock's armchair and the table that stood against the front wall of the flat.

"Sherlock's an arse, we all know that, he doesn't mean it but he just is. But can you honestly tell me that what he did he did it with his usual insensitive arsehole reasons?"

"Of course not! He did it to save your life!" Greg turned his anger on John, the soldier was trying to make Greg feel bad for being angry.

"Exactly and I'm sorry that it had to come to that, we both are. We talk about it, you know, you and Mycroft."

"Who does?" Greg got a little bit more annoyed as he tried not to look at Mycr- Sherlock behind John.

"Me, Mary, Sherlock, Molly and Mrs Hudson."

"Oh great! And what are you all saying about us?"

"We talk about how made for each other you are and how we can fix something that we destroyed."

Greg sighed and rubbed his forehead. "You didn't destroy it. We did…  _I_  did." He leaned on the back of John's chair. "I love him, I really do. And I really understand why he did what he did, I'm sorry Sherlock." Sherlock looked up as Greg addressed him and John turned his body to face the window looking between the two men. "I just… I just wanted someone else to blame."

Sherlock nodded. "It is my fault."

"It's not." He let his arm fall to his side and took a step forward. "Look at me. I honestly understand why you did what you did. Am I lying?" Sherlock hesitated before shaking his head a little. "I honestly understand why Mycroft hid it from me, am I lying now?" Sherlock shook his head again, still holding his legs. "And I honestly…  _honestly_ forgave him a long time ago… Now?" Sherlock shook his head again as he felt less upset.  _A tiny bit less._

"So, what's the problem?" John pulled out cigarettes and held one out for Greg, took one himself and then threw one to Sherlock.

"Your bloody brother." He lit his cigarette and Sherlock sat up properly. "Since that day he's changed."

Greg threw the lighter and Sherlock caught it.

"Tell me." He lit his cigarette and put the lighter down on the table while John stood with his hand out expecting him to throw it. When he didn't John huffed and picked it up.

>><<

"Mycroft?" Mary looked at the man as he pulled away from her shoulder. Cath was offering an open packet of cigarettes.

He took one and Mary lit it for him. "Thank you. I apologise. Usually I conduct myself in a much more appropriate manner but when it comes to Greg – I just lose it."

"I'm sorry, you're going to hate me but I still don't understand why you don't want people knowing about you and Greg?"

He sniffed and blew out smoke. "It's not that I don't want people to know about us, I'm just afraid that if everyone knows he'll feel like he's under so much pressure that he'll decide I'm not worth it and… Leave." Mycroft laughed upset. "Which is exactly what he's done anyway." He started to well up again.

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"It just doesn't make any sense to me – when we started out I was the one that didn't want anyone to know yet because I was worried about everything and everyone, I just wasn't ready and he was the opposite. Now, he's how I was and I'm him." Greg was standing in the middle of the room and John was sitting on Sherlock's left on the couch.

"It's the complete opposite of Mycroft." John shrugged completely at a loss. "He's never overstated anything but he's never hid it. Has he?" They turned to Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn't really listening he was whizzing through thought trails.

_Lestrade. Greg. Won't forget that punch. Fifty years old but looks much younger. Five foot nine. First to speak to me after my suicide attempt. Asking stupid questions. Hasn't changed much. Asked me for help and risked his career to make sure he got justice. To make sure he didn't make a mistake. A good man, an honourable and kind man. A man with more empathy than sense. A man with so much heart that it leaves him open to all kinds of pain. A man who stills tortures himself about things he did when he was eight – stealing chewing gum from a shop just to see what it felt like, who paid for it a hundred times over in 'just keep the change' gestures. A man who struggled with his inner self, who took the greatest leap there is because of his feelings for Mycroft. Who was upset but understood everything that Mycroft did and hid from him._

"Sherlock?" John and Greg looked at each other. They had never seen Sherlock enter his mind palace with his eyes open before. It certainly unnerved them both.

_Mycroft. Doesn't like Mike. Ten years my senior; forty-seven. Six foot. First memory would be… playing chess aged five. He won. Considers himself smarter than me and probably is. Hmm. Lazy, prefers to assume himself correct rather than to prove it. Always presents himself like a prefect. Except when it comes to Greg. Did not develop feelings for the detective straight away but has always had a certain affection for him that probably started in the hospital. My guess is Lestrade made him go home to shower and sleep the night that I woke to see the Inspector asleep in that horrid chair instead of Mycroft – Greg promised he wouldn't leave my side and he didn't. The next day Mycroft was back looking a lot better. A pillar of English strength in the face of threat and danger but becomes an emotional wreck where Greg is concerned. 'Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.' He had said once. He's not turned back to stone, he's appearing that way as a defence. He's scared._

"Sherlock?!" John and Greg said it at the same time reluctant to touch him and Sherlock suddenly turned his head slightly to look at John. The two men jumped a little.

"You back with us?" Sherlock looked at Greg.  _He's scared… He's…_ He nodded silently and looked down. Greg was sitting beside Sherlock on the couch and John was on the floor at the end coffee table near the door.  _I didn't noticed them move._

"What happened there?" John glanced to Greg before lighting another cigarette and looking at Sherlock.  _Seems I was thinking for more than a few seconds._

"Huh? No, nothing." He smiled briefly and leaned back on his side of the couch. He tapped his right index finger into the arm rest. Greg looked at him then narrowed his eyes. Sherlock looked back. "What?"

Greg smiled and looked to John before looking back to Sherlock. "Sometimes I forget that you two are brothers and then something like this happens." Sherlock just shrugged bewildered. "You both do the exact same things. The exact same involuntary ticks."

"That's a big word."  _Poke, poke, poke._

"Even that. When you're hiding something, been sussed out or are frustrated you insult someone, usually one of us." He indicated himself and John. Mycroft does exactly the same, although he's never done it to me."

_He hasn't? Interesting. Poke, poke._

"So?" Sherlock still tried to feign ignorance.  _He has to want to know. If he pushes it then there's hope._

"When Mycroft's upset he touches the front of his legs or his shoes." John looked to Sherlock realising.

Sherlock looked away.  _So, doesn't prove anything. Shut up. Poke._

"You do it too and when he's hiding something or upset especially when he's trying to act like it's nothing he does that." He pointed to Sherlock's hand. "That bloody annoying tapping thing. And you know that I would know that so if you want me to know something then just come out and say it."

John let out a laugh at how Lestrade knew Sherlock without even knowing Sherlock and just how much Mycroft and Sherlock were so alike despite how different they were.

Sherlock's tapping wavered and he stood up. "I can't."

"Why not?" Greg watched Sherlock walk towards the middle of the room. "You obviously want to."

"There's no point in telling you." Sherlock was looking around, not at anything in particular, he was just avoiding Greg's eye contact.

"Why?"

"Because there's not."

"Why?" Greg raised his voice.

"Because." Sherlock did exactly the same, just a little higher than his.

"But why?!" Greg gestured with his hands and widened his eyes in frustration.

Sherlock spun round. "Because you've given up on him!"

Greg pressed his tongue to the right side behind his bottom lip and nodded a little. He let his head fall and his body moved just once as he let out a little exhaled laugh. He put his hands on his knees and hauled himself to his feet. When he stood he walked towards the window and around the table until he was right in Sherlock's space but not enough to force the detective to move. John stood up wondering if Greg was going for his second fight that night.

When Greg spoke he did so very calmly but equally seriously and making each word just as clear. "You talk and talk a lot, but just this once listen to me. I want you to listen to every single word, alright?" Sherlock looked over the man's face and then just slowly nodded. "I have done some stupid things in my life; I've been arrested, I've cheated, I've stayed when I should have ran and I've ran when I should have stayed. I've lashed out, I've buried myself, I've drank too much, I've put my life on the line a hundred times and made the wrong choices. Every single one of those I have done time and time again and I will probably continue to do some of them plus many, many more. But…" He paused trying not to get emotional. " _But._  I will never…  _Ever_  give up on Mycroft Holmes. Do I make myself clear?" He raised his eyebrow in question to Sherlock.

_Even pulse. No facial twitches. No nervous body language. He hasn't blinked. Unwavering eye contact. No avoidance behaviour. Genuine emotion present in voice and tinge of skin colour concurs with that. Not one bit of deception in his voice or body language. Impressive for the amount of alcohol he has consumed. Truth._

Sherlock just nodded again.

Greg turned towards the table and leaned down to push on it.  _Checking it's not going to collapse underneath him like the last time._ He sat on it facing Sherlock and gestured with his hands. "Tell me."

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

"Why would you think that he would be under pressure if people knew?"

"I don't know, I can't explain it but ever since he said those words I have been waiting for him to leave. I've been waiting for him to say those words again and walk out. I stood on that doorstep watching him storm away and all I could think was 'There he goes.' I knew it would happen and I wasn't surprised but I can't handle it. I thought that if I prepared myself that when he did walk I would be fine but… I'm not."

"Mycroft, if you've been expecting him to walk out then you've pushed him away."

"I know, but I just couldn't get it out of my head. At night we'd lie in bed and all I could think was 'This might be the last night'. We'd say goodbye in the morning and I would hear 'This could be our last kiss'. How can I not push him away when I've got that going on?"

"But, if he's left because you've pushed him away then how can you say he would have done that anyway?"

Mycroft looked to Henry. "I…" He looked to Mary who just smiled sadly. "I can't… Do you think that I did this?" He suddenly panicked.  _Was this my fault as well?_

"No, I don't think you did this." Mary rubbed his arm again. "I think that you both couldn't tell each other what you were thinking either because you were too scared or you couldn't find the words to say but I think that Greg loves you."

"You do?"

"Of course he does!" Mycroft turned to one of the women and the rest of the group murmured and nodded. "After everything that happened with Sherlock you were ready to walk away and he said it wasn't over as far as he was concerned."

_He did say that._

Another of the girls spoke. "And he said that he understood everything, didn't he? Everything that happened and why you kept it from him?"

Mycroft nodded.  _He did. They had a whole day talking about it – crying, laughing and the rest._

And another. "And he said he forgave you?"

Mycroft paused but Mary spoke. "He did, he told John and me in here one night," Mary stole Mycroft's cigarette for a couple of draws since he was leaving it to burn away, "he told us that he understood everything, because John had mentioned that we felt guilty. Then when John mumbled something about how you must be feeling like hell Greg said he understood and forgave you. When John said 'Really?' Greg said, 'Of course I do, apart from everything else, how could I not? It's Mycroft.'." Everyone smiled and said various versions of 'See?' and 'Told you so!'

Mycroft looked outside at the rain. "He loves me, I love him and yet we're not 'we' any more, are we?"

Molly handed him a glass of wine. "So, fix it."

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"So, he was so afraid that I'd leave him that he pushed me away until I left him?" Greg looked to John. "Do you get this?"

John nodded and walked towards the couch to sit down. Greg turned a little to listen. "Yeah, he's pushed you away because that way it won't be a surprise. He figures you're going to leave him anyway, now he doesn't want you to go or he would finish with you himself but he can't bring himself to get any deeper with you. See, if he allowed that to happen when you left it'd be even worse for him so he pushes and pushes so that when do you leave he's already distanced himself. In theory that should make it easier for him but it won't."

Sherlock gestured to John.  _Exactly._  He sat in his armchair.

Greg looked back to Sherlock. "That's not what you said?"

Sherlock huffed. "That  _is_ what I said!"

John laughed.

Greg rubbed his neck. "I always thought that you met someone, you fell in love and it would be easy but what actually happens is you meet a Holmes, the other one falls from a building and everything that follows it is heart-breaking." He sniffed a little, glanced at Sherlock whose face was dripping with guilt and then looked to John. "I'm sorry John, I totally ruined your stag night."

John was lying with his chin on the couch arm nearest the door and looking over the edge.

"John?" Sherlock sat forward in his chair.

John turned his head and smiled cheekily to the others. Almost menacingly.

"What?" Greg looked at him wondering.

John reached over the arm of the couch and produced the bottle of absinthe. He wiggled it in question. Greg just looked to Sherlock then they both looked back to John. "I have never..."  _It was his turn._

>><<

Mycroft had planned on just a few drinks in Mary's before leaving again.

That didn't happen.

The ten hens were dancing around the couch and table in the living room, yes, all ten - including Mycroft. And Mary was standing on the couch doing the same as the others.

The song had went from slow to fast and then came the chorus that they were all waiting for. They bowed their heads and necks, put their arms out in front of them and padded their feet every time they sang 'rolling' and brought their heads up and arms back to their sides in between. The classic Tina Turner move. Then they generally danced the rest of the time.

_Big wheel, keep on turning, Proud Mary, keep on burning. Rolling (rolling), rolling (rolling), rolling on the river. River doot-doot-doot-doot…_

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"Come on, it's easy!" Sherlock laughed as Greg stood up beside him.

"This is too weird, Sherlock."

Sherlock huffed and leaned so he could see John. "Tell- tell- tell…" He stumbled, thumping his hand on the table and Greg caught him with his hands on Sherlock's chest as they both laughed ridiculously.

"Oh!" They turned to look at John. "I'm definitely telling Mycroft this time!"

Greg and Sherlock just laughed as they steadied themselves upright again. "Tell him, John. I'm good at it!" He stood facing Greg looking into his eyes. Or whatever that blur was…  _I think that's his eyes._ Sherlock took two long blinks.

Greg kept his feet on the ground, turned his body so that his neck reached all the way for him to look at John. Then he lost his balance a little and slammed his foot down to catch himself. He paused with his arms out making sure he was okay and Sherlock stooped a little ready to catch him if he did fall. They smiled at each other in relief and straightened back up.

"He's is v-" John stopped himself as he thought he was going to be sick. "He is very good, we've been doing it for weeks."

Greg looked back to Sherlock still unsure.

"See?" Sherlock gestured to John.

Greg sighed. "Fine, but only because I want to know if you're any better than Mycroft."

"Oh, I am." Sherlock winked and John giggled.

Greg just sighed. "Come on."

Greg took Sherlock's left hand with his right as he reached his other up to Sherlock's right shoulder. Sherlock put his right hand on Greg's back and looked at him.

"Ready?" Greg nodded and Sherlock led them dancing around the living room. In all fairness, it was awful but they were nearly a quarter of the way through that bottle of absinthe. And they weren't finished yet.


	10. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after the Stag and Hen nights and it's also the wedding day!   
> Dun-dun-da-dun! Dun-dun-da-dun!

**[Mycroft]**

"Mycroft? Mycroft?" Someone was shaking him, he could feel it but he couldn't quite fathom it yet. "Mycroft?"

He jilted awake, causing him to fall off of the armchair and onto the floor. His arm was grabbed and he was pulled up to his feet. He tried to focus with one eye open as he looked around to Molly.

"You alright?"

He looked at her in her yellow dress, with her hair and make-up done. All she was missing were her shoes.

"Y-" He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, ahem… Thank you." She let him go and he straightened his clothes. "What time is it?"

"Gone nine, everyone is just getting ready." She pointed to the table. "I made you a cup of tea and there's some pain killers there."

"Thank you but I don't think I'll be needing th- Ahhhh!" He scrunched up his face as someone drove a spike through his head. He lifted his hand up to it and bent his knees a little. She just smiled kindly and rubbed his arm before turning to the door opening.

"I don't believe it. I don't believe it." Mary walked in in her dress, with her hair done and in floods of tears, which was ruining her make-up, followed by the rest of the hens who looked like something terrible had happened. Janine and Billie were in lilac bridesmaids dresses.

"What's wrong?" Molly watched as Mary walked over to her and Mycroft knocked back the pain killers while looking on concerned.

She couldn't find the words so she just gave Molly a sad face as tears continued to stream and turned around.

Molly gasped and Mycroft knew this was bad. Very bad.

There was a massive tear down the back of Mary's dress. She turned back around to the pair.

"What am I going to do?"

Mycroft took a step forward. "Turn." She turned again to show him her back.

"I don't understand, I just put it on and it ripped! I put in some much effort to get into this dress and I managed it." She had started to talk at a hundred miles an hour. "I did. And it wasn't like it was tight, it just ripped! Just." She made a gesture of zipping up and a ripping noise. "You two were there, it just ripped didn't it? It wasn't me?"

They nodded looking more concerned than hung-over.

Mycroft looked at the rip.  _Along the attachment to the zip._  He turned her back around to face him.  _She can't be any different than Greg._ "Mary, look at me. Stop panicking. Stop." He tried to make her keep eye contact with him. "Breathe."

"But what I going to-"

"Stop." She stopped talking. "Breathe, that's an order." She starting breathing deeply through her open mouth concentrating on his eyes. "Good, listen to me. We have plenty of time but if you keep crying all of your make-up will have to be redone." He took out his phone without looking. "Breathe." He looked to his phone for a second before looking back to her. "Now, let me pay you back for last night. Trust me, go and take it off."

She nodded and disappeared.

"Beau? Yes, it's Mycroft Holmes… I'm very well thank you, and yourself?" He waited for the reply as Molly looked at him wondering. "That's good. Listen, I have an emergency… Wedding dress. Yes, it's just ripped along the zip and the service is in…" He looked to Molly and she mouthed. "Less than three hours?" He then gave the man the address and nodded muttering before hanging up.

A minute or so later Mary came back into the room wearing pyjamas looking at Mycroft. "Should I phone John?"

He held up his hands. "Everything will be fine, I have someone coming to fix it."

She looked to Molly surprised before looking back to him. "Wh- Will there be enough time?"

He nodded. "This man practically  _is_ Saville Row." She rushed to hug him and he smiled as they pulled apart. She pulled his face down with two hands and kissed his cheek. "Excuse me." He smiled as Mary smiled at Molly and he walked into the kitchen.

He picked up his phone again. "Alfred, could you do something for me? I need something delivered to Baker Street… As soon as possible." He smiled to himself.

>><<

"Greg!" Sherlock hit the Inspector on the knee without thinking. Greg's eye sprung open and he grabbed Sherlock's arm. "Watch! You'll crease this shirt!"

Greg let go and rubbed his face as he actually woke up. "Sorry, but you need to stop waking me up like that."

"I'd hate to be Mycroft," John muttered without thinking as he wander back into the living room towards his chair.

Greg smiled. "Actually Mycroft uses his…" He stopped his sentence and looked at the other two before clearing his throat as he flushed pink. "Never mind."

John laughed and pointed to Greg's face and looked to Sherlock who, he noticed was looking him up and down. "What?"

"Why do you have your dressing gown over your clothes, you'll crush them?" Sherlock looked annoyed.

John looked down at himself. "Because I fancied a cup of tea – if they're creased I can iron them again but I cannot wash out tea in time if I spill it. Okay?"

Sherlock just nodded as he looked at his watch for the millionth time that morning.

Greg noticed and looked at his own. "Shit, I need to get home and get ready. Shit, why did I crash here?! I'm gonna be late for your wedding!" Greg ran around pulling on his coat and visually locating his things as Mrs Hudson walked up the stairs.

She wandered in with a man behind her. She was wearing a navy blue ensemble carrying a dish cloth. "I am sick of answering the door for you two!"

John turned his hands palms up and looked to her. "I don't live here anymore, did everybody forget that?"

"How can we, when you keep reminding us?" Sherlock muttered it and sweeped around to look at her. "I wasn't expecting anyone?"

"It's not for you, Sherlock." She huffed and left.

The man stepped forward and Greg recognised him right away. "Parker?" He stood up to address Mycroft's driver. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir. Mr Holmes called this morning and said you would be needing this." He held out a hanger in one hand and lifted the rest of it with his other arm to present it like a bottle of wine in a restaurant. A big fabric bottle of wine. Okay, it was a suit in a clothes cover.

Greg and John looked to Sherlock who shook his head. "Not me."

"No, sir," Parker confirmed.

"Mycroft said I would need this?" Greg pointed to the suit.

"Yes sir." The man suddenly wondered if he had done something wrong. "If this is inconvenient I can leave, sir?"

"No no, thank you." Greg took it from the man. "You say he  _called_ this morning?" The man 'yessir'ed again waiting in the doorway. "Was he at work?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I do not know."

Greg nodded and smiled as he turned back. He then remembered. "Oh, sorry! Thanks Parker, you can go now." The man 'yessir'ed and left. Greg turned to Sherlock. "I will never get used to that."

Sherlock just looked confused. "To what?"

"All of that 'yes, sir' and waiting to be excused, it's weird."

"Is it?" Sherlock searched his memory for a time that it felt weird.  _Nope._

Greg rolled his eyes. "Well, it wouldn't to you. Did that seem weird to you, that he called to have that brought over?"

John shook his head.

"You mean why didn't he ask for it before he left for work?" Greg nodded in reply to Sherlock. "Yeah, it did."

John thought about it before he sighed angrily as he spilled his tea on his dressing gown. He stood up and looked at Sherlock. "See?"

>><<

**[Mycroft's]**

Mycroft was sitting with Beau and a few others in Mary's living room as Mary and Janine were up the stairs trying the dress on again.

"Thank you so much for coming at such short notice, Beau."

"Anything for you, Mycroft! She's a beautiful woman, I hope her husband to be knows how lucky he is."

"Oh, he does and if he doesn't he will by the end of today."

They looked up as Janine spoke, "The Bride." She smiled and stood to the side as Mary walked in.

Mycroft and Beau immediately stood in manners and the rest of the group followed the example.

She smiled at the group, her make-up having been fixed and her face showing no signs of anything ever have been wrong. "Well?" She didn't have to wait for words to confirm it because everyone's face showed how lovely she looked.

Beau walked around her cautiously and checked the back of the dress. "Perfect!" He smiled at her as she took his hand and squeezed it in thanks.

"Thank you so much, you've saved the day." She looked to Mycroft. "Both of you."

Suddenly there came two knocks at the door.

Molly ran to get it. "That's the cars here!"

Mary looked around at her friends. "Go, go! I'll see you there."

Janine and Billie stayed behind to go in the car with Mary who was walking down the aisle alone.

Beau bid his farewells mumbling something about a show he was meant to be headlining in half an hour.

"Thank you so much, Mycroft. You've no idea…" She took his hands and began to well up.

"Now, don't do that or you'll never get there." She nodded and took a breath in. "Go. Go get married Miss Morstan."

She smiled. "Are you sure you won't come?"

He shook his head regrettably. "I have some things to do, Syria needs to… Well." He stopped himself. "Thank you, Mary."

"For what?" There was beeping outside and Janine went out.

"You've no idea." He smiled and ushered her out of the door following just behind her. He pulled the door closed and waved her off.

He took a breath as his own car drove up. The man got out and opened the door.

"Did you get round to Baker Street, Parker?"

"Yes, sir."

"With the specific pieces of clothing that I picked out?"

"Yes, sir."

_How was he? Was he upset? Was he happy? Did he look inside? Did he ask about me? Does he still love me?_

Mycroft smiled politely and got in the car having not said a word further.

>><<

**[Sherlock's]**

Greg was shoved in the direction of the bathroom and then shoved into Sherlock's bedroom to change afterwards. He felt a bit uncomfortable now changing into a pair of Sherlock's underwear, which may be down to how long they were but John did not have any to offer him in their place.

Sherlock opened his bedroom door and, still standing behind it with his head directed to the bathroom, put just his right arm in the door producing the suit Mycroft had picked out for Lestrade.

"Thanks." Lestrade took the suit and turned it around to look at the front and stopped.

He held the suit with his right hand and slowly brought his left up to the tie. He put his fingers behind it and his thumb on the front and rubbed it remembering.

_'Whoa, whoa. It's okay. What's all this? It's just a tie. Actually, I've never seen this one before.'_

_'Sherlock gave it to me.'_

Greg looked at the tie. It was a deep navy blue with light blue spots on it to compliment the light blue shirt and bring out the blue tinge in Greg's favourite blue/grey suit jacket. There was something else about this tie; a memory that Greg couldn't quite reach.

He thought about it as he dressed and walked into the living room where the others were waiting to leave. Mrs Hudson had left a while before and Greg was still none the wiser as he walked towards Sherlock and John.

"What's up?" John noticed the look on Greg's face first as Sherlock turned to look.

"Nothing."

Sherlock searched his face. "What is it?"

He sighed. "It's this tie."

Sherlock noticed it.  _Mycroft's, I gave it to him. Compliments the shirt and jacket perfectly. So what's wrong?_

"I can feel a memory somewhere in the back of my head but I can't… Can't reach it." He sighed and rubbed his neck.

John looked to Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

 _Don't have a lot of time. Easier to just find it than to argue._ Sherlock closed his eyes, put his fingers to his temples and ran into his mind palace searching like mad.

 _Birthday present. Wore it three, four times… Wait! No, five times._ Suddenly a scene crossed Sherlock's mind. _He rushed into a restaurant, followed by Molly and Mary, towards a table. 'I love you too Mycroft but that doesn't erase the fact that…' Greg's face changed as he stumbled backwards out of his chair to stand looking at Sherlock, white as a sheet, but he had already looked ill. As if something terrible was happening. Sherlock looked at the table guiltily. 'I'm sorry, Mycroft, I know I promised that I'd allow you the time to tell him but there's an emergency.' Looking up at Mycroft as he put his napkin on the table. 'It doesn't matter. I've lost him already.' He reached for his water to take a sip and Sherlock looked to Greg. Sherlock visibly rewound it all to when he first looked up at Mycroft. His tie. He was wearing that tie._

Sherlock's eyes flew open.

Greg and John were looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat as he picked up his coat. "That day, the day I came back, he was wearing it in the restaurant. It's obviously some kind of message to you."

Greg suddenly remembered looking across to Mycroft who was indeed wearing the tie. He remembered it was loose when they were on their way to the hospital with Molly and how it had completely disappeared by the time they were standing outside smoking. He saw Mycroft catching him as stood on his broken foot and noticed its absence for the first time. He had been too focused on Mycroft.

"What's the message?" John pulled his coat on too.

Greg thought about it. "The night that we spoke about my guilt for the first time he was wearing that tie, I remember because he was yanking from around his neck and it got stuck. I didn't remember ever seeing it before so I asked him about it – he said that you had given him it." He gestured to Sherlock. "That look on his face when he said that, I thought it was pain from losing you but it wasn't, was it?"

Sherlock took a breath. "It seems that what you mistook for pain at my loss was in fact pain at what he was doing to you which was intensified when you spoke of your guilt. So much so that he found me the next day to stop it all. I wanted to tell John first because I was worried about his reaction." John looked at the floor and dragged his right foot along it a little before looking up again. "And he said that he wanted to wait until the next day to tell you because you had been having a tough time at work but I think that he was so convinced he would lose you that he wanted one last night. That tie, I think he wore it during the meal to try to subconsciously tell you why he was hurting you then and…" He sighed and indicated Greg's chest. "He's sent it now because he knows we'll figure out his message."

"Which is?" John gestured with his head that his question still hadn't been answered.

Greg didn't speak, he just looked down at it and flicked the end.

"Mycroft now associates the tie with Greg's pain and the possibility of Greg leaving. It's an explanation. As we thought, he was doing it all because he was afraid of losing you."

John sighed. "Wow."

Greg nodded in reply to John a little shocked. Then he smiled like he'd never smiled before letting out a laugh of relief.

John and Sherlock looked at each other smiling knowing that there just might be new hope for those two.

John looked out the window as a car pulled up and honked. "Come on then, this is supposed to be my wedding day." He smiled and walked out.

"Greg," Sherlock put his arm on the Inspector's to stop him for a second, "he's sent you a message… In his mind it's your turn." They smiled awkwardly at each other.

"Come on!" John shouted from down the stairs.

Greg smiled to Sherlock before following the voice.

Sherlock's smile fell as he exhaled and followed them.


	11. Chapter 11

**[Sherlock]**

Molly stood with Tom giggling together as a photographer approached them so they turned, posed and smiled.

"Nice," the photographer muttered to himself then moved on to Mrs Hudson and her date who posed too.

He lowered the camera and smiled to them. "Lovely." He looked to his right at Greg sitting at the table alone and raised his camera again.

Greg let the hand holding his mobile fall so that his phone was hidden as he lifted his glass with his right hand and smiled for the photo.

The photographer moved on to the other guests and Greg raised his mobile again, he glanced over to where John and Mary were standing talking then looked back down at his phone.

He pressed 'send'.

He then exhaled and headed outside for a much needed cigarette.

John indicated the waiter, who was carrying a tray of food, to Mary. "Oh, do you want...?"

Mary took a canape from the plate. "I'm starving!"

The waiter looked to John and he shook his head. "No, I'm fine, thanks."

The waiter bowed his head and carried on.

"I had to lose so much weight to get into this dress," Mary said, with a mouthful.

John just chuckled lightly and shook his head. He spotted Greg making a break for outside and pointed towards him. "Do you want to...?"

Mary shook her head. "No, you go ahead. I don't want this dress to smell." Sherlock approached Mary as John walked away. "Not joining them?" She smiled at him, discretely using her tongue to move food bits out from the spaces in her teeth.

"No." He watched her stop another waiter and grab a glass of wine from it.

"Do you know, if it wasn't for your brother I would never have got married today." She took a sip.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock looked at her with narrowed eyes and confusion.

"Yeah. Urgh!" She grimaced. "I chose this wine." She looked at the glass. "It's bloody awful." Sherlock took the glass from her and placed it on the nearest table. "He stopped by last night to talk and when my dress ripped this morning he got someone to fix it. He just got on the phone and half an hour later the man was in my bedroom sewing it up."

_That is why he called in the request for Greg's suit - he was at John's house._

"Beau?" Sherlock remembered the man.

_Absolutely infatuated with Mycroft, on a purely platonic level._

"Yeah, do you know him?"

"Yes, he's a close personal friend of the family."

"Well, the man has talent." 

"He should do. Did Mycroft say he practically  _is_ Saville Row?" Mary nodded. "That would be because he is. His last name is Brummel, his whole family have been famous tailors since the nineteenth century."

Mary's mouth fell open. "And I never even offered him a cup of tea."

They both laughed.

Mary looked at Sherlock. "You haven't asked what he wanted to talk about so I'm guessing that Greg turned up last night after all?"

Sherlock nodded. "They broke up."

"I know. We all talked it out until he realised where they had been going wrong."

"I guess that was the reason for the message this morning." Sherlock looked outside as John and Greg stood talking.

"Message?" Mary looked puzzled and Sherlock started to explain last night and the tie.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft was sitting in his office pouring over files with Andrea.

"So, move Korea to four o'clock." She nodded as she jotted it down in a small notebook. "I think Syria got the idea but book me in with David at his earliest convenience. Tell him that he may need to contact our beloved Commander and Chief but to leave the dog in the backyard."

"Do you mean Clegg, sir?"

"Yes, never did understand why he puts up with that insufferable poodle," Mycroft mused.

"Politics, sir."

Mycroft looked to Andrea, as if his mind had been drifting, and then caught on. "Yes, of course. How tedious."

His phone beeped and he ignored it, it was his personal line and he was still in the middle of business.

 "And what do we have of the whistle blower?" he asked her.

"Still in the airport in Russia, sir."

"He's not been granted permission to enter the country?" Mycroft looked up to her for confirmation.

"No, sir. I checked with Interpol this morning. Would you like me to tell the CIA?"

"Good, let's hope he stays there. Yes, don't call the office, but check with our contact inside the airport first then call the operative in the CIA through this week's clean direct line."

"Very good, sir." 

He closed the file he had open on the top and handed her them all. She made to leave but turned as Mycroft said her name.

"Andrea, what about Sherlock?"

"Nothing unusual on the surveillance, sir. Nothing to suggest any danger but would we know if there was?"

"Probably not, no."

She smiled almost sympathetically and left the room.

Mycroft took out his phone and his heart stopped.

_'1 New Message: Gregory.'_

Mycroft cleared his throat and swallowed as he shifted in his chair. Hi future hung on this one text. 

He pressed 'open' and read it.

_'Thanks for the tie. Message received. I'm not going anywhere unless you really want me to and I think it's fairly obvious that you don't so stop pushing me away and I won't walk out. Just be with me and let me be with you because that's what I want.'_

Mycroft exhaled and smiled as he scrolled down.

_'I love you, you bloody idiot. - Greg X'_

Mycroft let out a little laugh and sat back in his chair. "Oh, Mary Watson, I owe you so much."

There was a knock at the door and Mycroft looked up to see Andrea.

"Sir, something has just come up on our surveillance."

He sat up properly, putting his phone on the desk in front of him. "Sherlock?"

She shook her head. "The Watsons."

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

"Alright mate?" John walked over to Greg as he lit his cigarette and offered John one of his. "Thanks. "He took it and let Greg light it for him. 

"So, how'd married life been treating you for..." He looked at his watch. "The past couple of hours?"

John laughed. "I'll let you know when it sinks in." John looked in at Mary standing with Sherlock and Greg looked too. "I can't believe she married me." He went a little pink and looked down at the ground. "How you doing over here?"

Greg smiled. "I'm fine." He nodded and John just looked at him. "No, really! I'm good. Sherlock said to me earlier that Mycroft sent me that tie as a message so in his mind it was my turn." He took his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it with the thumb of his right hand, the rest of which held his cigarette. "I honestly feel like I'm back at school, passing messages back and forth."

"You sent him a message?" John raised his eyebrows a little surprised. Greg found the right message and handed him the phone so John could read it. He smiled when he read the last line and handed it back to Greg. "So is that you two back to normal?"

"Honestly, I have no idea but I do know that when I stumble out of here later to a waiting taxi that I won't be crashing with Sherlock."

"And how does that feel?" John took a drag.

"Brilliant." He smiled, nodding and John couldn't help but smile back. "And not because I won't be woken up by Sherlock shooting the wall or standing on the couch next to me reading the stuff he's stuck there."

They laughed.

"I wondered why he chose Baker Street, back when we first met and realised he was from money. I mean, it's a lovely little flat but with his money he could afford to love anywhere. Look at you and Mycroft."

"Yeah, but that's the house they grew up in and after what Sherlock did I don't think Mycroft could live anywhere else."

"I suppose, but now I know why Sherlock lives there: Mrs Hudson is probably the only landlady in London that would put up with him."

They laughed again, blowing smoke out as they did so.

"Do you think you'll still see Sherlock?" Greg looked at John with concern.

"Of course I will?" John couldn't understand/ "Who wouldn't I? He's my be-  _One_ of my best friends."

"I mean, will you two be crossing the threshold of my office like you used to?"

"Yeah, of course. Mary loves that side of me, she wouldn't ask me not to. I mean, I'm a married man now so obviously I won't be as available as before and I'll have other commitments, I'll have a job, so he won't be able to wake me up at two in the morning anymore-"

"I wouldn't bank on that." Greg smiled.

"But, I will still be there for him." He looked at Greg wondering. "Why?"

Greg hesitated then blew out smoke before shuffling on his feet. "Well, I just- I mean, you and Mary will be starting a family soon, I assume-"

"At some point." John nodded, just once.

"And there's me and Mycroft but if Sherlock continues to work for the Yard then I'll see him anyway and Mycroft has his tabs on him. Not to mention Mrs Hudson over there with... I don't even know who that is."

"Mr Chatterjee." John looked at the two of them. The man looked less than thrilled at being dragged along.

"Well, him and Molly and Tim."

"Tom." John looked at Greg. "You're just as bad as Sherlock with names, Graham."

"I just worry that he'll be alone... Again. With all of us pairing up and getting on with our lives. I know you didn't know Sherlock long before he did... What he did. But you solved all of those cases together and he' your best man. Just... Just please don't forget him."

"Greg, after what he did for me... That man will be sitting next to me and Mary in a retirement home if I have my way."

"Good." Greg smiled and brought his cigarette to his lips before his face relaxed and he let his hand fall back down. "Hey, what about me, where will I be?"

John just laughed and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Oi, John? Where will I be?" John waved Greg away and walked back inside. "John!" Greg stubbed his out and followed him.

They walked over to Mary and Sherlock who were now joined by Janine.

"John?" Greg persisted.

John was still laughing as he approached the trio. "Hey."

"What're you laughing at?" Mary was nearly laughing herself, at the sight of John doing so.

He stopped, Greg huffed and grabbed a sausage roll from a plate as the waiter passed. "Nothing. What are you talking about?"

"Just chatting." They all looked to Sherlock. "Won't be doing that again. Did you know that Mycroft crashed your wife's hen party last night?"

John and Greg both looked surprised but it was John who spoke. "No." They looked at Mary.

She hesitated as she formed her words. "Well... He called your phone and I picked it up, he was upset about-" She absent-mindedly pointed to Greg and the Inspector's face fell.

"What did he say?" Greg put the sausage roll down on the table they were stood beside and wiped his hands.

She hesitated again. "I-I convinced him to come over and we talked it through. He realised that he had been an idiot and then we got drunk." She shrugged.

"He saved your wedding," Sherlock directed at John but he was watching Greg.

John just turned to Mary for the explanation.

"This morning the dress ripped up the back and he just said, 'Let me pay you back for last night,' and within half an hour someone came round to fix it."

"Well, remind me to buy him a drink the next time I see him." John smiled.

"A drink? Is that all I mean to you?" 

She smiled as John shook his head and kissed her.

"Who did he manage to get in that amount of time?" 

"Someone called Beau. Does that wine taste alright to you?" John just nodded as he looked at the glass.

"Beau Brummel?" Greg looked to Sherlock who merely nodded.

"Yeah, do you know him?" Mary picked up Greg's discarded sausage roll and started to eat it. John looked at her, clearly disgusted, and she just looked back bemused. "What?"

"Yeah, his family have been tailors for hundreds of years, he loves Mycroft and Myc says he practically-"

Greg, Mary and Sherlock all said the rest in unison.

" _is_ Saville Row."

John looked between them confused then laughed.

"I'm sorry that we hijacked your hen and stag nights, guys." Greg subconsciously played with his tie. John and Sherlock noticed the tick and shared a look.

John and Mary just made general 'no, don't worry about it' statements.

"It was actually a funny night," John said wincing a little as his head seemed to remember every unit. "I'm just glad that we didn't wake up Mrs Hudson when we stumbled in at midnight or whenver it was."

"Why were you back so early?" Mary looked at John slightly worried.

John took Greg's right wrist and showed the knuckles to Mary as if that explained everything. They were red, as if they had collided with something once. Hard.

Greg looked at it as he took his hand back. "Yeah, what the hell is that from?"

Mary and John laughed.

"You don't remember?" Sherlock asked and the others looked to him. Greg just shook his head. "I accidentally irked a man in a club."

"Yeah," John interrupted, looking at Mary, "then he," he gestured to Sherlock, "decides to start deducing him right there by the bar and comes out with 'homophobic'."

"Uh-oh," she said.

Greg put his hand to his head as if his head was hurting at the memory. "You mentioned Mycroft." He pointed to john.

"And the guy rips into Mycroft's name," John said and he and Sherlock gestured as if that was the end of the story.

"So, you punched him?"Mary looked to Greg wide-eyed.

"Yeah," Greg said softly. He looked at his punch, scrunching his brow as he flexed his fist then looked up to the rest looking at him and snapped out of his trance with his own fist. "Well, he deserved it. Bloody arsehole."

Mary rubbed his arm laughing and biting her bottom lip with her top front teeth, like she always did. "I honestly don't understand you two... How can you not see what we see?"

"Sometimes..." Sherlock hesitated as they all turned to look at him. "Some things are so obvious they become transparent. It's as if we search for them so hard that we look right past them." They smiled and Greg went a little pink. "Like that." Sherlock nodded to a door where a guest had just entered.

They turned to see a man in dress uniform searching the room for a familiar face.

John dropped his glass and it, thankfully, sent wine away from them onto the open floor behind them.

"John, are you alright?" Mary put her hand out to him and looked at Sherlock as John's left hand tightened. It wasn't an involuntary tighten, he was doing it on purpose to stop something.

_The tremor._

"Darrel Moran?" Sherlock asked.

John just nodded, frozen to the spot.

The man suddenly saw John and smiled a little before letting his face drop at John's reaction. He shuffled before turning around to leave out the door he'd just walked in through. John's breathing had become laboured and he was starting to lean to his right.

"Greg." Sherlock nodded in Darrel's direction and Greg ran after him. "Mary... Do your thing."

"What are you talking about? Fix this, Sherlock!" She was panicking.

"Mary Watson, you are the only one in the world who can calm him down with a smile. You're the love of his life so... Do your thing." He raised his eyebrows just a touch.

She inhaled, nodded to herself and then stood in front of John. "John? Look at me, John." His eyes shifted to hers although the rest of him stayed where it was. "Just listen to my voice, okay? Just listen to me. I know what's going though your head right now, you might not think I do but I'm there when you wake up crying or screaming."

Sherlock thought back to the time that he was there.

_'You need need to start announcing yourself.'_

"I'm there and I hear it all. So believe me when I say that I know how you feel but that's all behind you now. He's here because you saved his life. Whatever the reason, whatever happened before it and whatever has happened since, that's the truth. Now, the way you felt about..." She exhaled. "About James, all of that pent up guilt - Darrel feels that about you. He's here to honour you but also to settle in his head that you didn't give up your life when you saved his. He wakes up in the night having dreamt that you died saving him. Died inside. He wants the closure you have. That's all he wants."

She reached for his left hand and just gently rubbed the skin for when he was ready to loosen his grip.

_'Let him go, John. Let him go... Captain.'_

John paused for a second before he appeared to let go of a long breath and nodded. She also let go of a breath she was holding as he loosened his grip and took her hand. 

_Relief._

After a second or two he straightened up and looked to Sherlock. "She married me."

Sherlock smiled back. "I know. I was sort of stood right next to you."

John walked away as Greg re-entered the hall with a very nervous soldier in tow. Greg told the man to wait and walked to join Sherlock and Mary. The four of them watched-

Sherlock looked to his right.

_Hmm. Did not notice Janine leaving._

The three of them watched as John approached Darrel and they both saluted.

Greg finished his wine. "Well, if that's not a man who's conquered his demons I don't know what is."

Mary smiled and hugged Sherlock's arm. "All thanks to you. Well, the three of us really."

Sherlock looked down at where she was hugging him. "Stop smiling."

She looked at him like she didn't know if he was joking or not. "It's my wedding day!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked away from her as his phone beeped.

He walked to the other end of the hall, where his violin was waiting, and took out his phone.

_Number unknown._

He read it.

_'Oh, poor junior. His soldier, his policeman and his pet all moving on. Feeling lonely, Sherlock? Let's have dinner.'_

Sherlock looked around him briefly.

_Not again. No._

Sherlock jumped when someone touched his arm from behind. He exited his messages and shoved his phone in his pocket as he spun around to see who it was.

"Whoa, a little jumpy there, Best Man." 

_Janine._

"Not used to people sneaking up on me." He looked around as everyone was generally making their way to their seats.

"It wasn't my intention." She smiled at him and he gave a brief reassuring return.

"Is the meal starting?" He asked, redundantly, but playing for time to calm himself.

"Yeah, that's what I was going to say. Are you alright, you look white as a shite, Sherlock?" Her Irish accent curled around his name in a near perfect way.

_Second only to Scottish, the name's mother tongue._

"I'm fine. Let's be seating, shall we?" He smiled and walked away.

_Think about it later._


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter based on "The Sign of Three" but there is still HLV to go.

**[Sherlock]**

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He had stood there for hours, plenty of people watching with nothing seemingly wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to think about this: a murderer who can apparently walk through walls and a weapon that can simply vanish – but in all of this there is still only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?"

The guests in the room, listening to Sherlock's tale of 'The Bloody Guardsman', looked around nervously at each other.

"Come on, someone? Scotland Yard?"

Greg lifted his head. "Hmm?"

"Have you got a theory?" Greg stared at him blankly like a rabbit in headlights. "Come on, we were in full deduction mode last night after countless drinks and over a quarter of a bottle of absinthe-" Just then Greg, Sherlock and John all put their hands to their heads and closed one eye. A couple of guests, including Mary and Molly, giggled. When they recovered Sherlock picked up from where he left off, "You must be able to offer  _something_  right now? You are supposed to be a detective, after all."

"Er, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the grating in the, um, air vent-"

"Don't suggest a dwarf."

Greg stopped talking at Sherlock's words. "I-I.. I wasn't going to."

"Hmm, liar." Sherlock looked down to the table when he heard mumbling so he looked back up to see Tim-  _No Tom? Tom._ To see Tom whispering to Molly. "Tom?" The nervous man slowly stood up. "Something you wish to share with the rest of the class?"

John cleared his throat. An implied _'Be nice'._ Sherlock forced his features to appear softer.

"Um… attempted suicide, with a blade made of compact blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen… like a meat… dagger."

As a couple of the guests sniggered and Molly's face flushed red with embarrassment you could see Tom mentally wishing he hadn't spoken as the ridiculousness of his suggestion hit him.

"A meat dagger?" Sherlock said each word precisely to make sure he had heard right.  _Not at all to further his embarrassment. Not at all._

"Yes."

Greg looked to Molly as she whispered her displeasure through gritted teeth. "Sit. Down."

"No," Sherlock clarified. "There was only one interesting feature in the whole case, and quite frankly it was the usual; John Watson." John smiled behind his hands which were clasped in front of his face and Mary smiled at his slight embarrassment. "Who, while I was trying to solve a murder, instead saved a life." Mary giggle slightly in delight and John looked down.

"There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling." Sherlock glanced down at John. "The best and bravest man I know – and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff." John chuckled with embarrassment. "Except wedding planning and serviettes – he's rubbish at those."

The guests laughed and Mary winked at Sherlock.

"The case itself remains unsolved, for the time being. However, I am not just here to praise John – I'm also here to embarrass him. Now, if I had a video of the stag night then I would show you it purely for his answers during our drinking game."

Mary raised her eyebrows in query as Sherlock turned a little to John.

"Have you told her about that time on tour?"

"Shut up!" John smiled as some of the guests tittered.

"What about what you did at your aunt's house when you were seventeen?" Greg piped up suddenly remembering.

"Shut up!" John half-laughed "Did you tell Mycroft about Paris?" Sherlock burst out laughing at Greg's face as Molly and Mrs Hudson turned to Greg in question. John turned to Sherlock. "I don't know why you're laughing Mr Hurricane?"

Sherlock's face fell and Greg burst into fits of laughter. "That wasn't the first time I've heard that story and it's still too funny!"

Sherlock looked to Greg. "Remind me to tell you some stories about Mycroft." He cleared his throat. "Embarrassing drunk revelations aside it's quite hard to find embarrassing stories about John because, in all honesty, I haven't known him very long – strange I know, since I'm his best man but I'm sure you're all familiar with the story by now. The thing about John is that he doesn't wait around while blushing and stuttering he tends to identify a problem and tackle it with no time for embarrassment. It must be the soldier in him or the doctor I'm not quite sure. But, in that respects, the one thing John is… is strong."

Mary smiled and Sherlock looked at her. 

_Totally in love. They are quite similar in how they deal with things. They come at them head on and relentless. Strong._

"And I don't mean physically although he is undoubtedly that. In fact, in the… about three years I've known John, I've been around for about one of them and in that time he has restrained me on four occasions, including once in his bedroom." The guests looked around smirking and Sherlock looked to a bemused Mary. "Don't try to wake him up when he's having a nightmare… It really hurt my back."

The guests, Mary and John tittered as John's face got a little redder.

"He's put a gun to my head once, although I deserved that one, he's thrown a whole array of things at me, including an apple which I was then ordered to eat," Greg and Molly smirked knowingly, "and he's hugged me onc- twice. We don't count the various other assaults I have endured because as they happened while on cases I have put them down to occupational hazards. My point in all of this is that while he is physically strong he is even more so mentally and emotionally. He has coped with a lifetime of different pains, from ones I won't mention to ones I couldn't even begin to imagine both in and out of the Army. John you've endured trauma, loss and pain but you are still..." He exhaled. "Bloody stupid."

The guests looked slightly put out as John turned to look at Sherlock.

"Because after everything you are still blind to see just how strong you actually are. How much you have braved, and I don't just mean on the front line, how much you carry around and how much you've overcome. As I stand here today I want you to know that you are capable of strengths that I could only imagine – like getting to the brink and turning back." They smiled at each other knowing what Sherlock meant.

_'Braver than invading Iraq.'_

"John can read a person in the way that I can read a crime scene, I used to think that's what made me special – and honestly, I still do. But I'll give you all one piece of advice should any of you require either of our services; I will solve your murder but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He's saved mine so many times as well as his own, he just doesn't see it."

Sherlock held up his phone. "John's blog is the story of two men and their, quite frankly, ridiculous adventures," Sherlock smiled as the guests chuckled, "of murder, mystery and mayhem. But it only tells half of the story and while John is the best and bravest man I know who has been through so much already I also know that his story is just beginning. A whole different kind of adventure."

Sherlock looked down at the couple who smiled back happily.

"Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding."

Sherlock picked up his own glass while the guests did the same and stood. The photographer walked forward with his camera ready to capture the end of the speech.

"Today we are privileged enough to be here to mark the beginning of that adventure. The adventures of Mary Elizabeth and John Hamish Watson." He paused smiling. "To the Watsons!"

"To the Watsons!" The guests echoed and the photographer snapped it all up.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

Mycroft had his suit jacket on again as he followed Andrea down a long corridor. She was holding five files as she walked as quickly as she could.

"And what's his name?"

"Talbot, sir. Roger Talbot."

She stopped at a door, opened it, walked in and held it open for Mycroft.

The room looked like an interrogation room; it had a table in the middle of it and three chairs around that. Andrea closed the door and walked over to pull out Mycroft's chair for him. It wasn't something she would normally do but she did in these situations to stress how important and influential her boss was. As Mycroft settled himself in his seat he didn't thank her as she put the files gently down on the desk in front of him.

Mycroft had yet to look up at the man across from him who was nervous and shaking as he looked from Andrea, who also avoided his eye contact, to Mycroft.

Andrea moved the chair next to Mycroft's over to the wall near the door and stood beside it. Again emphasising that she was awaiting orders and Mycroft was the king of his castle here.

Mycroft selected the first file and moved the others to the side slowly, allowing the man time to see his own name on the selected one.

Mycroft opened the file and read some of it.

"Sir, I don't know wh-" He stopped talking when Mycroft raised his left hand with his index finger extended upwards.

Mycroft continued to read the rest of the file slowly, turning each page deliberately and Andrea did not move in any way. This was to make sure that she did not imply that Mycroft was deliberately taking his time to make the man more nervous than he already was.

Eventually Mycroft nodded in Andrea's direction, without looking at her, to which she walked over to the mirrored screen behind her boss and tapped it just once. As she walked back to where she had been standing the man on the other side of the table looked to a red light that had suddenly come on. It was a camera pointed right at him and it was now recording.

Mycroft then looked up at the man with a serious expression. "You are a Mr Roger Albert Talbot, correct?"

"Yes, sir." He looked about ready to pass out with fear.

"Of Lauriston Gardens?"

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft took a breath in. "How long have you worked for me, Mr Talbot?"

"Just under a month, sir."

"So, talk me through what happened this morning." Mycroft leaned back in his chair a little and waited.

The man looked to Andrea who just looked back at him as if she didn't see him looking to her for help. "Sir?" He looked back to Mycroft, his nervousness mixing with confusion.

"Not half an hour ago some troubling information passed over my desk." Mycroft closed Roger's file and replaced it with a file marked 'Surveillance on #17181'. "You were the person to come across this information so I want you to talk me through how it came to your attention."

"Oh…" Roger showed realisation and his confusion melted away almost completely and filled up with nerves. He sat forward, wringing his hands and tried to explain. "Em, well, sir. I was working surveillance on file two three one nine one nine eight..." 

_Sherlock._

"...tracing a text when Martha-" He indicated Andrea then righted himself as Mycroft looked to her. 

_Martha. Interesting._

"Uh, I mean your assistant, I'm sorry sir. When your assistant requested that I switch to file one seven one eight one, I was working alone so I didn't have any specifics pertaining to the surveillance request. Although it was documented that surveillance had been requested on a weekly basis when I saw that the basics hadn't been sweeped first I thought I would be start there before I continued." He stuttered through the entire explanation as he tried to make sense.

"And when you were done with that?"

"I'm sorry, sir?" The man drew a blank.

"You said that you didn't have any specifics pertaining to the surveillance request so when you were finished obtaining and documenting the basics what did you plan to continue with?" 

_May as well make him sweat. It'll be good practice._

"I was going to repeat the pattern of the previous requests, sir, before submitting them."

Mycroft looked at him for a second. "Good." The man showed relief but he was too nervous to let himself believe it. "So, let's talk about what you found and how you found it."

"The basics had been found for file one zero eight two three and those files were linked so I started gathering the same information for one seven one eight one. I started with the birth certificate and moved onto anything after that date, including medical records, education, criminal records before moving into adulthood and looking into provisional license, passport, driver's license, car ownership, accommodation, insurance and dug down to a level five including magazine subscriptions, email accounts, facebook, twitter, direct debits and phone bills. I did all of this for family members too. That's when I found it."

"To clarify, for the tape," Mycroft gestured to the camera with his head which had been forgotten as the light blinked away, " _what_ did you find?"

"The death certificate," Mycroft indicated the camera again, "Mary Morstan's death certificate."

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

In the reception room the tables and chairs had been cleared away, it was dark outside and the lights in the room were low enough to create a romantic glow.

John and Mary were looking into each other's eyes as they danced slowly. The guests were all gathered around the edges of the dance floor and Sherlock was stood on a low stage at the end of the room. He was playing his violin as he watched John and Mary dance.

As the tune came to a close John put one hand behind Mary's back, held her by the waist with the other hand and started to dip her backwards.

She gasped. "Really?!"

John giggled and continued to dip her and then kissed her as the last note was played. The guests broke into applause and some cheered but while everyone was looking at the newlyweds Janine directed her applauds to Sherlock then she 'whoop'ed at him, a little loudly.

Sherlock looked at her for a second before picking his buttonhole flower off of the music stand, indicated it and threw it to her.

John and Mary giggled together as they turned their attention to Sherlock when he spoke into the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, just one more thing before the first of, I'm sure,  _many_  slow and romantic songs of the night if the DJ's right sleeve is anything to go by."

John, Mary, Greg, Molly, Janine and a few other guests giggled as Sherlock turned to the bemused DJ.

"Today we saw two people make vows. I've never made a vow in my life and, after tonight, never will again."  _I think I finally understand._  "So, here in front of all of you I will make my first and last vow. John and Mary: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I vow that I will always be there, for all three of you."  _Bugger._

Greg lifted his head as if he recognised Sherlock's words and completely missed the last part. Sherlock hesitated for a moment, completely oblivious to Greg's reaction, trying to mentally scold himself. _Fix it. Fix it._

"Two. I'm sorry, I meant the two of you, I just miscounted."

John and Mary shared a troubled look as Sherlock turned to the DJ.

"Play that playlist of smoochies you have, Alan, go on."

The music started up with 'Oh, What a Night.'

"Oh, you sure proved me wrong," Sherlock quipped to the DJ who threw him a narrowing but slightly hurt look.

Sherlock walked over to John and Mary. "No doubt the next five will be sad songs; that one was just to make me look stupid. Didn't work."

"Sherlock." John just looked at the consulting idiot.  _Idiot. Note to self: bang head against wall later for being an idiot then tape mouth shut._

Sherlock sighed. "One more deduction than I was expecting."

Mary looked between the men still lost. "Deduction?"

Sherlock gave her an intense stare trying to read if her ignorance was genuine. "Increased appetite…"

_'I'm starving!'_

"…change of taste perception…"

_'Urgh I chose this wine. It's bloody awful.'_

"…and you were sick this morning. You assumed it was wedding nerves and you got angry with me when I mentioned it. All the signs are there."

"Signs?" Mary looked like her mind was trying to catch up. _Genuinely._

John sighed and Sherlock didn't need to say any more. "Jesus. Signs…" He sighed again and Mary looked to him, her mouth forming a 'what' but he spoke first. "Jesus, you're… we're…" He exhaled. "Sherlock, help me."

_Okay, maybe I do have to say more._

"Mary…" She looked to him. "You're pregnant."

Her eyebrows flew up as her mouth fell open. "Wha…"  _Definitely genuine._

"Bloody hell, how did he notice before me? I'm a doctor!" John pointed to Sherlock and looked around at the people dancing.

"Stop panicking." Sherlock looked at the pair as they were indeed panicking. "Both of you stop panicking right now. Neither of you have any reason whatsoever to panic. There is no doubt in my mind that you will be the best parents in the world, with all the practice you've had."

"Practice?" They looked to Sherlock as if they both wanted to punch him then cry and perhaps laugh and run away.

"Yes, the way you two deal with Greg and Mycroft is amazing." They smiled a little. "That's not to mention all the looking after me you do."

The three of them grinned wider. John put his right hand on the back of Sherlock's neck as they laughed, he then turned to put his left on Mary's face and Sherlock's smile wavered just a little as John let him go.

"Dance." The couple looked at Sherlock. "We can't keep standing here like this or people will begin to wonder what we're talking about."

Mary suddenly became tearful as the news hit her and she reached out to touch Sherlock's arm. "What about you?"

"We can't three of us dance, there are limits."

"Yes, there are." John smiled as they began to walk away.

"Don't worry, Mary. I've been tutoring him." Sherlock nodded to John, looking at Mary.

"He did, you know, and Greg. Behind the curtains of Baker Street. Mrs Hudson walked in once, I don't know how those rumours got started."

Sherlock smiled as Mary mouthed 'thank you' over John's shoulder and nodded a little.

>><<

**[Mycroft]**

After an hour Greg was sat at one of the tables left at the side, which was filled with abandoned drinks, with Molly and Tom talking away. Molly and Tom were sitting as the detective had begun to slump onto the table. His head resting on his right arm as he looked at them.

"How are you and Mycroft?" Tom asked and Molly nudged him violently. "Ow! What?"

"It's alright, I don't know, mate. I'm hoping we're okay now. Would have been nice if he could have been here but I guess I'll find out later."

Just then the song changed to Eta James' 'At last'.

Molly and Tom were listening to Greg when they noticed someone approach and Molly smiled before Greg realised and turned his head.

"Or you could find out right now?"

Greg looked up to see Mycroft standing there and he straightened up.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?"

Mycroft put out his hand. "I think I owe you a dance."

Greg looked around. "Here?" He turned as Molly tutted. "What?"

"Honestly, you two! He realised how much of an arse he was being so will you just take his hand and go be together?" She shook her head laughing.

Greg looked back to Mycroft who just raised his eyebrow and smiled in question.

Greg smiled back and took the hand as he stood. They walked to the middle of the floor where there was a space and Mycroft made to take Greg's waist. Greg stopped him and Mycroft looked at him waiting.

"I think it's about time I led." Mycroft beamed a smile that broke into a happy laugh. Greg took his waist and right hand in his left as they looked at each other. "I take it you got my text then?" They started to move around the floor.

"I did and I see you got my message." He indicated the tie but didn't break eye contact.

"Mycroft," Greg thought for a minute, "in future, instead of thinking things and not saying them while letting them torture you can you just say them? Because that way we can talk and it won't fester until one of us storms out in tears."

"You were in tears?" Mycroft suddenly looked worried.

"Of course I was." The Inspector looked back at Mycroft completely surprised. "Do you really think I was happy about walking away from you?"

Mycroft looked at Greg feeling the memory threatening to make him emotional again. "No. I just… Didn't see you cry."

"What's this I hear about you crashing the Hen party?" Greg tried to move the conversation on.

"Ah, now that wasn't intentional, I phoned John when Sherlock wouldn't answer but… I just couldn't sit around doing nothing. I… I just couldn't."

They smiled and shared a kiss as the song started to end.

Suddenly they pulled apart in surprise as various noises erupted.

They looked to see the Hens that were dotted around the room all clapping and cheering and realised that the attention of the whole hall was on them. Mycroft caught Mary's eye as Greg caught John's. Sherlock looked on with a smile. Greg and Mycroft suddenly went very red, even under the discos lights it was obvious, Greg looked away trying to wish it away.

Then the song changed, Mycroft looked to the DJ who was standing with Henry.

"No, no, no, no." He shook his head as Henry smiled.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, Mike!"

Mary, Janine, Molly, Billie and another girl ran over to the pair.

"Sorry Greg," Mary smiled, "borrowing your man." She grabbed his hand tightly.

They pulled him away as Greg laughed wondering what the hell was going on. He walked over to where Sherlock and John were standing just a few steps away. John was putting a pair of white shoes on the table even though it was bad luck.

The three of them, plus other guests, watched as Mycroft protested half-laughing and the group surrounded him while the song slowly played.

"Can one of you explain to me why I was dancing with Mary, that song came on then she just handed me her shoes and abandoned me?"

"I think…" Sherlock began as the song came to its second slow verse. "If we keep watching we will be privy to something we are not likely to see again." They watched as Mycroft was clearly losing the argument. The two men looked at Sherlock. "We are forgetting one thing… Mycroft was an honouree hen."

He handed the two men glasses of wine as they realised and the song slowed right down before it suddenly picked up.

Mycroft watched as the others sprang into action.

_'Left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day. But I never lost one minute of sleepin', worryin' about the way things might have been.'_

He sighed, lowered his head and then joined in with the classic Tina Turner dance they had all perfected the night before.

_'Big wheel keep on turnin', Proud Mary keep on burnin', Rollin' (Yeah!), Rollin' (Yeah!), Rollin' on the river…'_

When the song ended applause broke out from the guests and Mary hugged Mycroft's arm, the both of them slightly out of breath. "I'm glad you came, Mycroft. I love when we get to see this side of you – the  _real_  you." She smiled.

"Yes, I'm glad I did too." He smiled as she walked over to the husband and shoes she had abandoned and Mycroft watched her.  _Whoever she really was._  He put his head down and walked over to Sherlock as Greg, Mary and John made their way outside for a cigarette while John pointed out that Mary's dress would smell, gently mocking her.

Sherlock put his hand out to stop his brother following them "What's going on?"

Mycroft looked to him as nonchalant as he could. "What do you mean?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock kept his stare on his older brother. "You know I can read you like a book."

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his hands together; exactly what Mycroft did when touching his feet wasn't an option. "This fairytale is going to come to a less than pleasant ending if this gets out."

"What, if what gets out?"

"That Mary Watson is not who she says she is."

Sherlock lifted his head a little with surprise then lowered it again. "Well, who is she?"

Mycroft looked to the group outside chatting and laughing, Sherlock glanced in their direction before looking back to his brother.

"She may very well be the thing that finally succeeds in killing John Watson."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now based on "His Last Vow", enjoy! Oh by the way, this is where the rating starts to make sense. Drug use and all that. A LOT of flashbacks. Had to be done.

_"Now, come on Sherlock. You can do this, darling. Just like we practiced. You close your eyes and concentrate. Go on."_

_"Okay, Mummy." Sherlock shuffled backwards in his seat and dangled his feet over the edge. They didn't touch the ground because, even though he was eleven years old, it was a big chair. He closed his eyes and thought really hard. Suddenly he was in a castle, his castle. The only castle he knew._

_"And you find somewhere relevant to put it so that when you go back at a later date to find it you'll know where to look for it. So, find somewhere to put it."_

_"In the fridge?" He opened one eye smiling at his mother chuckling._

_"Yes, I suppose you could put it there." She looked back to him. "Keep your eyes closed, darling."_

_He closed it again. "Sorry. Down to the kitchen and into the fridge. There."_

_"Now, remember. You have to close the door and walk back out the way you came, remembering to lock the front door when you come out."_

_"Okay." He smiled as he closed the fridge and walked back out the gate and signalled for the draw bridge to close behind him._

_"Have you done it?" He nodded. "And now you can open your eyes." He did so and looked to her warm smile. "Now don't think about it a minute more. It's in there and you'll know where to find it if you need it again."_

_"Mummy?" The boy looked down at his hands a little nervous._

_"Yes, darling."_

_"Can we do that with bad things? Can we do it with things that we never want to come back to? I know I'll need to know up eight figures of Pi at some point in my life so I can go and get it out of the fridge any time but what about stuff that I want to lock away and never go back to?"_

_"Well…" She put her hand out for him, he jumped from the seat and walk towards her. She put her arm around him and looked into his eyes. "You know that you can talk to me about anything?" He nodded. "Good. But for the things that you don't want to talk about, you can do what I do, if you like?"_

_"What do you do?" The curly-haired boy looked up at his mother as if she were the fountain of all knowledge in the universe. Because she was, at least in his._

_"In my head, in my Memory Manor, away at the bottom of it where I would rarely go, there is a corridor. It's a very long corridor but it only has one door at the very end. Do you know why that is?" He shook his head. "That's so that I don't come across the door by accident, so it's not next to anything else. And behind that door is a room where I put all of the things that I don't like."_

_"Like oranges?"_

_"Exactly like oranges. Horrible things." She scrunched up her face and they both laughed. "I put my bad things in there. And if they are really awful and scary then I put them in a box on their own – again, so that I don't find them by accident – and I lock it up before I leave the room and I lock that door too."_

_Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "I could do that."_

_She smiled and nodded before fussing with his hair. He pulled away laughing as she had him trapped. "You can't put me in that room, Sherlock."_

_They laughed together and Sherlock smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it."_

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

Sherlock stood in 221B with his violin but he had stopped playing a while ago. He just hadn't noticed.

"Sherlock, if you're not playing that can we talk properly?" Sherlock turned back to Mycroft sitting in John's old chair. "We need to decide what we're going to do here."

"Why?" Sherlock put his violin back down on the table. "Why do we have to do anything? He's happy. Can't we just leave it there?"

"You know that you would not be able to go along with that."

Sherlock turned quickly and shouting. "Why?! Why do you have to have fingers in every pie?"  _Pi._ He grunted and closed the fridge door of his mind again. "Why did you have to do those stupid checks?"

Sherlock rubbed his hair and looked around him for something to focus on.  _Anything._

"I didn't. We've been through this, a member of my staff came across it by accident."

"I know, I know!" Sherlock started throwing things around as he was looking for his cigarettes. "But why? Why?!"

"Sherlock, what are you actually asking me?"

"Why did you have to have a new guy, why did your bloody assistant have to give him vague instructions, why did you have to have the surveillance on them in the first place and why did I…" He trailed off as he stood to look Mycroft in the eyes.

Mycroft shuffled his body around in the chair to look properly at his brother stood on the couch putting a cigarette to his mouth. "Sherlock, this is not your fault."

"It is."

Mycroft protested.

"Do you know what he said?" Mycroft just gave him a blank expression waiting for more explanation. "He stood here with a gun to my face, before you and Greg showed up and said 'I know what you were trying to do, Sherlock and without you I would never have found Mary.' So don't tell me that this isn't my fault."

He brought the light to the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"Only the one? It cannot be perplexing you that much then." Sherlock rolled up his sleeves to reveal six nicotine patches. "Oh. Sherlock, she sought him out. They did not meet by chance, she would have found him whether you were dead or alive, whether you met him or not."

"But the publicity we caused through the blog and my suicide…" He sighed and rubbed his face as his brother's face reflected every pain he had been through.  _Maybe not to the untrained eye but I knew._  "I made it easier for her to find him." Sherlock finished his cigarette, far too quickly, and lit another. "You and Greg…" Sherlock walked over to sit opposite his brother. "How are you two?"

Mycroft looked surprised by the question being asked so blatantly. "Er… We're good."

Sherlock shook his head and widened his eyes while gesturing his hands in question as he exhaled. "Well? That's a very vague answer, Mycroft."

"Yes I suppose it is." Mycroft shuffled in his chair. "Forgive me brother, I was just surprised that you asked me it." He cleared his throat. "We are getting on much better, we talk more instead of letting it built up and…" Mycroft ran out of things he could think to say.

"Are you happy?" Sherlock offered.

"Yes." Mycroft tried to supress a smile. "Yes, I am." He narrowed his eyes at his brother. "You can stop feeling guilty now, Sherlock." Sherlock looked up trying to feign ignorance. "When you first came back you felt guilty and you and John tried to fix it. Then just before the wedding we still needed a little help but now it's up to us. It's our relationship, anything that happens now is our doing."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "Good."

"You have to tell him, Sherlock. You know that he'll never forgive you if you don't." Sherlock looked up to meet his brother's eye contact. "And you'll never forgive yourself if that happens."

>><<

It's all he could hear.  _BING. BING. BING. Bloody phone hasn't stopped._ He knew who it was. It was Her. It was Her and she wouldn't leave him alone. Sherlock slapped another nicotine patch on and jumped around trying to fill his brain with things to occupy him.  _Anything. Everything._

_"We've been over this, Sherlock. Mycroft and I have some business to attend to-"_

_"Well, I could play with Sherlock, Father. I don't mind missing the meeting."_

_Sherlock could see through his younger self's eyes, looking up at his father and brother hopefully._

_"If you want to get into this business, Mycroft, you will have to start acting like an adult."_

_Their father walked away and Mycroft knelled down to his brother. "I have to go to this meeting but if you're awake when I get back then we can do something. Hmm?"_

_Sherlock nodded his head sadly knowing that he wouldn't be awake, no matter how hard he tried. He never was. He then walked away with his chemistry book and sat back down._

Sherlock opened his eyes again.  _Anything in my entire mind and THAT is what I found? Something else._

He closed his eyes again and suddenly he was standing at the end of an old gate. He knew it well and he also knew that although the gate was closed it wasn't locked. It had no need to be since it wasn't a bad thing that needed locked away rather it was just forgotten.  _Abandoned in a way._ He pushed the gate, it creaked even though it didn't have to because Sherlock had always liked that sound, and walked along the path towards the house.

When he got there he smirked as he took it all in again. This used to be his Memory Castle with the gate as the drawbridge. It didn't seem like much now, but to him back then it  _was_  a castle. It was where he felt safe and protected. He walked in the front door and watched his younger self, clad in dark trousers and a green jumper, running around, as if it were a projection.  _No, as if it were paranormal_. He heard a bark and turned to see Redbeard run towards him, he bent his knees until he was down to his level and clapped his knees.  _Come on, Redbeard!_ But the dog ran right through him, he turned to see the dog topple his younger self and lick him all over.  _Not my dog anymore. He was his dog. And I am not him._

He felt this need drawing him and he walked to the door that led outside. He looked out at it before he took that step onto the gravel. He saw the tree and the pond and he felt a shiver. He walked around to the four steps that took him to that level and stood about twenty or so feet away. The sky suddenly turned to night, some clouds gathered but the moon shone down on him unobstructed. He turned to look at it and when he turned back he could see himself sitting on the ground leaning against the tree, apparently looking at nothing as he closed his eyes. But this Sherlock knew better. After a long period of time a tearful Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked down at the various things on the ground.

This Sherlock watched him inject himself twice and then lie back on the grass to look at the moon. He closed his eyes and Sherlock did too. But then he heard the car on the other side of the house. Still standing on the grass, not far from his own body, Sherlock heard his brother call for him as he came to the door, he then turned to watch Mycroft as he jogged down the four steps and over to Sherlock. He saw him lean over Sherlock, quietly and calmly check his pulse and breathing while taking out his phone. Giving a brief glance to the stuff lying beside him.

Sherlock closed his eyes and when he opened them again it was daylight and the grounds were empty. He walked over to the tree and put his hand on it to steady himself. He had a… shall we say 'copy' of this place in Baker Street but for something like this he needed to come back here. When he exhaled and nodded to himself a door appeared in front of him. He would have disapproved but in all fairness he was a child when he created it and it was a 'on the spot' improvisation that he just never altered.

He opened the door with the key he now held in his hand and walked in. The lights came on, one by one down the corridor until one door was visible. He paused, closing and locking the door behind him to prevent anything escaping, then began to slowly walk towards the other one. When he got there he unlocked it and stepped inside but left the door open because, as much as he didn't want anything escaping, he did not want to be locked inside.

The room was full of things, all completely disorganised and, in all honesty, just thrown inside. Not literally, but the closest suitable space was quickly located when dropping things off and the room was exited pretty quickly. Sherlock looked around at the old forgotten things but he didn't touch any of them for fear that they would awaken and eat him whole.

There was a portrait of his father with a piercing, judgemental and unloving expression that was leaning on a fireplace on the far left wall, even as Sherlock just looked at it he could have sworn he saw it wobble. He looked at the box to the right of the fireplace – it was a small wooden box, about the size of a jewellery box, which had a pattern carved into it. He didn't have to look inside to know that it was lined with purple felt because it contained the information to do with his suicide attempt.

He ignored that as he walked on the patch of ground that nothing touched around towards a medical textbook entitled 'Losing your mind' that was up to Sherlock's waist from the ground. One book. Of course, there was no such medical textbook of that size or with that title but it was a compilation that Sherlock had put together of the information he had gathered about the possibility that he would lose his mental faculties as he grew older. He glanced around to the various other books dotted around the room. The Bible and various other religious textbooks which scared Sherlock, mostly because he couldn't understand them but also because they represented, for him, an alternative reality in which the things he knew and could prove were not the be all and end all.

He shuddered a little and looked even further around to three things all sat in the middle of the floor in front of his mother's old leather armchair. The one she died in. He knelled down to the three things he had most recently disturbed in this room, or in his copy of it. The suicide box always went back on the table over there but Sherlock wasn't really afraid of that… He was definitely afraid of these three.

In front of him lay a cane, a veil and a comically-large needle.

He sat on bended knees on the floor in front of them and wrapped his fingers around the cane. His head shot back a little as information was thrown at him.

_Captain John Hamish Watson, seven one one two six, Fifth Northumberland fusiliers, honourably discharged after sustaining an injury in the line of fire while saving a fellow soldier's life – Lieutenant Darrel Moran, 'Daz' to his friends and off duty, now Captain, three five two nine four, wife and two daughters, six and four. John saved Moran while trying to kill himself in a kamikaze mission to atone for the soldier who died saving his life. James 'Jim' Moriarty, one four zero four three, died Second Lieutenant in Afghanistan while saving the three soldiers. Posthumously awarded for his bravery, survived by a sister. John Watson came home and isolated himself with the intention of committing suicide, when several attempts failed he was brought into New Scotland Yard, to D.I G. Lestrade's attention who brought me in._

Sherlock let go of the cane and opened his eyes as it clattered on the floor.  _I know what happened next._

He looked to the veil and decided to leave it until last.

He picked up the syringe and inhaled deeply as if feeling the glow again.

_Cocaine. Can be smoked, injected or snorted. I sometimes snorted but usually injected for a quicker fix. Prepared at a seven percent solution, started off at three. Seven was beginning to falter when I decided to kill myself. Side effects include feeling of confidence, alertness, rise in body temperature, loss of appetite, increase of heart rate and can also become aggressive. Injection is more dangerous which is why Irene insists on doing it herself. Feeds my mind. Alternative fix now – solving cases. That is also beginning to falter._

Sherlock opened his eyes to look at the syringe, lifted it and lowered his head to look at what was now dangling from it. Attached to the plunger was a cord that held a card at the end of it. As it twirled around on the cord Sherlock could see it was an identity badge that read 'D.I Greg Lestrade' and had the man's picture. He quickly dropped it as he felt a sting in his hand. It bounced on the ground but did not break. He looked at where the syringe had pierced the skin on the palm of his hand.

He sucked the cut for a second before he turned his attention to the veil, paused and exhaled before picking that up in his left hand.

 _Mary Elizabeth Watson, nee Morstan. Size twelve, younger brother, clever, part-time nurse, short-sighted, bakes own bread, Lib Dem, romantic, cat lover, appendix scar, secret tattoo, disillusioned, ability to be uncommonly harsh, married._ Sherlock shook his head.  _Mary Elizabeth Watson, nee Moriarty. Liar._

Sherlock looked from the veil in his left hand to the syringe on the floor on his right. The syringe had shrunk down to it's usual size and the ID lay in a pile beneath it. The voices in his head got louder and louder as they tried to talk over each other.

_I would never have found Mary if it wasn't for you…_

_You can't just let people have their secrets, can you…_

_She may very well be the thing that finally succeeds in killing John Watson…_

_I owe you my life…_

_You don't even realise what you've done…_

_You have to tell him Sherlock…_

_Everyone's entitled to their own secrets..._

_To the Watsons!_

Sherlock dropped the veil on the ground and ran, he locked that door and then ran to the next. He struggled to unlock it, a feeling of something behind him making him shake, but then burled out of it before stopping to lock it again. He clambered up the hill and towards the drive where he took off towards the gate. He kept looking behind himself, he could feel something chasing him, like something had gotten out. He ran and ran and ran. He got to the gate and closed it before pulling the rusty chain round and securing the padlock he hadn't used in so long.

Sherlock opened his eyes for real this time, he was standing in 221B in his sitting room just where he had been when he had started this task of finding something to distract himself. It was dark now as the evening settled itself on the streets of London. He looked down at his hand, there wasn't a mark but…  _Something is different._


	14. Chapter 14

**[Sherlock's]**

_Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!_

Evidently there was nothing of interest to Sherlock in his pile of possible cases.

Greg stopped at the door to see Sherlock scuttling around and throwing papers this way and that. More papers than he should have been physically able to, unless he was an octopus.

"Bored?" Greg smirked as Sherlock's head popped up.

"What? Yes. Case?" Sherlock stood up where he was and looked at Greg hungrily.

 _Clothes are his usual style but more expensive so he's still living with Mycroft. Good. Hair and smile concurs. Ever so slight indication of a limp and he's put on weight but it's muscle which means either he's been working out more or… Ew._ Sherlock screwed up his face, concluding that he was most likely having copious amounts of sex.

"What?" Greg looked at his leg, where Sherlock had been looking. "What are you looking at and why are you giving me that face?"

"Do you have a case?" Sherlock rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left.

"Yes." Greg turned sideways to let Sherlock passed as he put on his coat and the sleeve hit Greg in the face. "Bloody hell." He shook his head and gave his leg a last look before he followed the detective outside.

>><<

They pulled up outside of a block of flats on Sloane Street. As Sherlock closed the car door he looked to the blue plaque on the white stonework.

'London County Council

Sir Charles Wentworth

DILKE

1843 – 1911

Statesman and

Author

lived here'

_Yes, so have hundreds of other people. What a ridiculous thing to commemorate, clearly designed to irritate and distract. I have an international reputation for thwarting criminals and I hope to never see my name on one. A blue circle outside of 221b Baker Street._

'William Sherlock Scott

HOLMES

Consulting Detective

1977 – However long he managed to survive.'

_Though I suppose that I cannot expect to live out my days at Baker Street. A blue plaque somewhere in England's countryside._

'William Sherlock Scott

HOLMES

Consulting Detective

and Bee Keeper

retired here

when John killed himself.'

 _Stop,_ Sherlock pushed that thought to the back of his head looked up at the windows before ducking under the cordon and crossing over the road.

He took a quick glance at the people who had gathered behind the cordons all around the outside of the flats. For want of a better plan the police had sectioned off the pavement and its side of the road, brought in officers to try and deal with the traffic (they had opened up a single far side lane and each side was alternating) and had assigned other officers specifically to ward away the press for the time being.

"Which one?" he half-shouted as Lestrade joined him and the man told Sherlock it was the corner window on the third floor. He didn't point or gesture so as not to alert the press.

_The three windows graduate down onto the pavement like a staircase. There is a ledge underneath the window which a little bit of the roof of the room below and the same can be said for the window underneath that. The second floor window has metal shutters over it, like mini versions of the gates you find in lifts in apartment blocks in America, older hotels or shafts in old warehouses. They're slightly open._

They crossed back over and entered number 76; there were various officers all looking around as well as, beside the lift, one officer standing talking to another man at the small desk. As they stepped over threshold Sherlock went into overdrive deducing everything and everyone in there.

 _Relatively new decoration – carpet, wallpaper, paintwork. Paintings are from local galleries. Female officer, single, twenty-six, dog owner, German Shepard, wanted to be in the army but… Medical not passed and that accounts for the gym obsession, slight lack of iron in diet. Male officer, thirty-one, gay, long-term relationship, faithful, boyfriend owns a cat that doesn't like him, addicted to online gambling._ Sherlock looked to the back of the officer talking to the doorman. _Approximately forty-five and probably opens his mouth more than he should considering his rank in respect to his age, just started using a new shampoo, relationship recently ended, all bets are on it having something to do with that big mouth of his, recovering from a knee injury while playing football and…_ Sherlock squinted to the man's left hand. _Right-handed but… boxes south paw._ Sherlock briefly smiled when he was caught looking by the officer as he turned around.

Greg nodded to him and the man walked away giving Sherlock one last glance. But Sherlock had shifted his attention to the doorman.

_Slightly obese, re-hemmed trousers, the condition of the fabric indicate a lot of sitting down but his shoes indicate a lot of walking._

Sherlock rounded behind Greg and the man as Greg spoke, "And you are the doorman?" Greg gave Sherlock a sideways glance as the detective looked close at the doorman's left ear before passing behind him and looking at his hat.

_Red marks inside ear from something being taken in and out regularly. Hat is removed a lot, probably when no one is around. Red mark in right ear too._

"Er..." The man looked to Sherlock but turned back to Greg when he didn't seem fazed. "Yes sir, Keith Roberts," he said.

"And how long have you worked here, Mr Roberts?"

Sherlock looked over the various things on the top layer of the man's desk.

_Sign-in sheet. Top left corner, a small scrap of paper. Been ripped off by left-handed person._

He scanned the list of names on the paper underneath.

 _Only goes up to seven in the evening. Shift change._ _Seven small monitors. One for outside the door they had just entered._

Sherlock glanced outside.

"Two years, sir."

Greg nodded and wrote it down, when he finished he didn't remove his pen from the page but he lifted his eyes to Sherlock as he looked outside. Greg turned to look but when he turned back Sherlock was looking back at the monitors.

_Second shows this room from…_

Sherlock turned to look behind him at the camera.

_There._

He turned back.

_Third shows inside the lift. Fourth alternates between the stairwell descending to the basement and the basement hallway which houses the staff that live there. Why on earth would you want to live where you work?_

Sherlock shook his head just a little.

_Fifth alternates between the first floor hallway, stairs leading to the second floor and the second floor hallway. The other two do the same for the third and fourth floors and then the five and sixth. The desk looks clean and presentable but…_

Sherlock bent down and pulled on one of the drawers. When it was locked he looked up to the doorman who was watching him nervously. Sherlock slowly looked back to the other drawers and found them open.

_Files. Banana. Sandwiches from home. Flask of coffee. Strong coffee judging by the drips that have escaped and dried on the rim. Crossword book. Chewed pen._

"And did you notice anything unusual last night at all?" Greg was ignoring Sherlock as he sensed he was getting about ready to speak.

"No sir, everything was quiet just like every night. Everyone who came through the door signed in and I recognised them all anyway."

"You didn't get up to go to the toilet?"

"My bathroom breaks are all recorded on the logs, sir." Sherlock quickly flipped to the logs and noted all the times.

_All that coffee is clearly taking its toll._

He put the clipboard back down on the counter.

Lestrade nodded thoughtfully as he wrote it down and then sighed. "That's it? So, nothing unusual happened and no one unknown to you came through that door," Greg turned to his right a little and pointed behind himself before turning back, "and yet I have a dead body upstairs and a woman in hospital with a bullet in her head? And you didn't notice anything?"

The man stuttered for a response, "Well, uh-"

"What is in here?" Sherlock rattled the drawer to emphasise that it was locked and it got Greg's attention.

"Nothing, it's just my private things." The man shrugged clearly nervous.

"Open the drawer, Mr Roberts." Greg looked to the man seriously and he just hesitated. "Or we can force it open."

Sherlock sighed. "I'll save you time, Inspector." Sherlock looked the man up and down. "From your trousers, shoes, complexion…" Sherlock narrowed his eyes as a hint of a smirk appeared at the corner of the right side of his mouth. "You fell asleep."

The man spluttered. "I did not!" But his eyes gave him away.

_Guilt._

"My guess is a travel sewing kit, spare tie, caffeine tablets, chewing gum that focuses on whitening teeth, painkillers, nicotine patches and a Metro."

"How?" It was Greg that spoke since the man was clearly struck dumb.

"Mr Roberts, your trousers and shoes tell me that this is not your only job, which is not a choice you have taken; you _need_ both jobs - your sandwiches and the hem of your trousers tell me that you are barely making ends meet. Your complexion tells me you are exhausted from it, there are marks of slight irritation in your ears – my guess is they are from ear plugs – so something makes it hard for you to sleep at night. I'll bet you've just had an unplanned baby. Also your choice of banana for slow-released energy and strong coffee are attempts to last longer on what little sleep you do manage, that's where the crossword book comes in, other than just to stave off boredom you try to keep your mind working and therefore awake. The marks above your ear are from where your hat rubs when you put it back on, you take it off at every opportunity because your lack of sleep mixed with the ways you try to keep yourself alert are what give you that sore head you have."

"So," Greg looked up to the right thinking back, "travel sewing kit and tie for keeping up appearances, caffeine tablets for an extra kick, chewing gum with whitening because of the strong coffee, painkillers for the headache… Nicotine patches and paper?"

The man looked from Sherlock to the Inspector and back again as his brain caught up.

"Nicotine patches because not only has the new addition to his family led to his rethinking his current attitude to his health – not to mention the unwelcome drain it has on his poor finances – but his jobs do not leave a lot of time for smoking." Sherlock picked up the pen tentatively and a little disgusted, by the nib end of it. "Chewed beyond belief."

"And- And?" The two detectives looked to the man as he stuttered. "And the paper?"

Greg looked to Sherlock and waited.

"You're struggling financially but you're exhausted so the one thing you do allow yourself is the bus to and from jobs, you pick up the paper in the morning to keep yourself occupied and awake and take it into work for the same reason. There is only so long you can do crosswords while jonesing for a cigarette before you get frustrated and give up so you need something else to do."

Nobody said anything for a few seconds before Lestrade raised his head a little. "What time did you nod off, Mr Roberts?"

The man sighed and rubbed his head. "Mrs Frank, 6d, came in at 9:37 and then I woke up when something was hit against the door at 10:14." Sherlock glanced to the clock on the wall opposite the man's chair and then looked at his own watch.

_Correct. So there was no way he could have the times wrong._

"Alright," Lestrade turned to the male officer that had originally been speaking to Mr Roberts, "get another statement from Mr Roberts here, the truth this time," he pointed his pen at the doorman who nodded guiltily, "get the contents of that drawer logged and all of the sign-in sheets." The officer nodded. He turned to the other officers. "Get the security cameras up, go through and find me between 9:37 and 10:14."

"On each one," Sherlock added and Lestrade nodded as the officers looked to him for confirmation. "Including the one inside the lift."

"Come on." Lestrade walked to the door that led to the stairs and stopped, turning around to look at Sherlock as he looked at the call button for the lift then put both palms on either side of the open doors, his thumbs on the inside across each hidden door. "Techs stopped it here this morning, no finger prints whatsoever."

Sherlock turned his head. "None?" Lestrade shook his head.

_Interesting._

Sherlock turned back, and leaned in to look inside the shaft.

_Nothing of note._

"Alright." He passed Greg, who was stood with the door to the stairwell open.

"You already have this figured out, haven't you?" Greg called after Sherlock as he followed him up the stairs. When he didn't get an answer he exhaled. "Of course you do. I should just retire now."

"Why would you want to do that?" Sherlock flicked his coat as he turned left sharply, looking at each of the cameras as he continued upwards.

"Because I will never be anything like the great Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock smirked. "I think my brother is very thankful for that, Inspector." Greg smiled a little just at the mention of Mycroft. Sherlock opened the door to the third story landing and held it open for Greg. "As am I."

Greg looked at Sherlock for a second. "When you talk like that I can't help but wonder if you're not back on the drugs." Greg walked away and Sherlock hesitated before glancing down at his right hand. Greg turned back to see Sherlock's face. "It's a joke Sherlock; a compliment from you always takes me by surprise and I never know how to respond." He gestured his head as Sherlock looked up to meet his gaze. "This way."

Sherlock followed slowly, looking along the doors and up to the cameras as he passed them to the corner flat. Numbered clockwise from where the lift and door to the stairwell opened the corner flat turned out to be 3d. They walked under the police tape around the door, Lestrade nodded to a female officer who stood beside it. _Bored out of her mind by the look on her face. And hung-over._

Looking at the number Sherlock had to mentally repack all of the information he had on 3D as it came rushing at him.

_Stop._

He closed his eyes and set it all back before opening them again. When he opened them Lestrade was looking at him. "What?"

"Everything alright?" Greg narrowed his eyes in slight worry as he pulled blue latex gloves on. The female officer turned a little trying not to make it obvious that she was watching.

"Fine. Just had to…" Sherlock waved his hands dismissively. "Sort some information." Lestrade nodded, the worry fading, since this was not a new thing to him. Sherlock bent over to look at the handle and then bent his knees to bring himself down to eye level.

_Wiped clean except one obvious pinky print…_

Sherlock squinted closer.

_One upside down pinky print and sideways thumb print. Hmm._

Sherlock saw a right hand curl its fingers behind and under the door handle while the thumb was left extended out to the left, leaving those two obvious prints. "Who found them?"

Lestrade opened his notebook. "Uh, the cleaner, those were the only prints when we turned up and they are hers." Sherlock stood up and opened the door then crossed over the threshold. "The rooms are exactly how they left it." Sherlock looked around barely listening.

_Clean and well kept, good choice in cleaner then. Phone, note pad and mail on the table in the hall next to two sets of keys – one in the designated bowl and one on the wood. Wood slightly faded under that set._

He leaned over it.

_Mr and Mrs Watson._

Sherlock shook his head a little.

_Mr and Mrs Walton._

_'Keep it together.'_

_I am trying, Mycroft!_

He shook his head again and continued around the room.

_Lipstick open and on the floor below the mirror._

Sherlock kneeled down to look at it properly.

_Esteé Lauder, shade… Rebellious Rose._

Sherlock looked around at the other rooms.

"Which one is he in?" Lestrade motioned to the sitting room and they walked in. Sherlock looked around the room, nothing seemed out of place other than the body and a brown leather briefcase by the door.

 _Fallen over or kicked over?_ _Slight dent in the leather. Kicked._

There was a small sign with a number '4' on it and a rule set out.

_Gun found there._

He looked to the coffee table.

_Slightly closer to the couch than it usually is._

Lestrade walked around the back of the corner couch, which faced the coffee table and window, rather than being up against any corners, with the TV in the far corner. The man was lying on his back, his head was tilted upwards by the wall.

_Fell backwards without enough room to fall flat._

Sherlock stepped over to the right side of the body and leaned over the chest.

_32\. Revolver._

"Do people even use revolvers anymore?" Sherlock muttered it and Lestrade knew it wasn't a question to be answered.

_Male. Married. About thirty-sev-_

"James Walton-" Sherlock shifted as, not only did Lestrade just interrupt him but the name…

_Stop!_

"-thirty-seven years old, lived here for six years. They moved in before getting married four years ago. He was found like this, she was found here." Lestrade pointed to the cushion next to the corner one but on the side of the couch that lined up with where Greg was standing and Sherlock looked over before deciding to stand and walk over. "Mandy Walton," Sherlock paused again. _Stop!_ "thirty-three, she was shot, by the same calibre, here." Sherlock looked up, he pointed to the top of his hairline on the right side of his forehead. Sherlock looked and then looked back to the cushion. "It looks like she'll survive but she hasn't woken up yet."

Sherlock nodded and looked around.

_So she was standing here when she was shot judging by the…_

Sherlock looked over the back of the couch. "How tall is she?" he asked and Lestrade opened his notepad as Sherlock walked forward to come to his side – now looking at the crime scene from where Lestrade had stood when they first walked in. He leaned over and just read over Greg's shoulder.

_Tabarom by Antonio Visconti. No, not on the pad - on Greg._

"Bit woody, for you," he commented when Greg turned and saw Sherlock sniff he grabbed his coat and smelled it.

"It's not mine, it's Mycroft's." Sherlock just looked at him. "I know, I haven't smelled it before either but he was wearing it this morning." His eyes went slightly out of focus as if he was thinking back.

"Something wrong?"

_5"6._

Sherlock finally read it and stood back to look over the sofa again.

_Blood pattern consistent with facing the doorway when she was shot. And there's that big obvious hole they haven't seen._

Greg paused, chewing his lip nervously before he spoke, "Something's bothering him and it's not work because I can tell by the look on his face. This is different."

_'And we both know what it is, don't we brother?'_

He widened his eyes and shook himself back into the room. "Anyway… Thoughts?"

_'Yet another one of your secrets I'm keeping for you. This time it really will end us, it'll be unfixable and it'll definitely be your fault, Sherlock.'_

Sherlock closed his eyes slowly as he exhaled just a little knowing that he was right.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his eyes again and realised. "Thoughts, yes!" He pointed to the man. "There's something in his right pocket, could you get it for me, Inspector?" Greg looked at him surprised at the respect he was getting. "I don't have gloves on."

Greg walked over the left of the body, kneeled down and searched in the man's trouser pocket, he fished out a pink envelope, crushed and folded in two without care. Greg stepped over the body to join Sherlock on the other side of the table and show him. He unfolded the envelope and the front read 'My Mandy.'

_Man's writing. Unrushed._

Greg waited for a nod from Sherlock before turning it over and removing the card. It was a printed picture of a rose on the front that said 'I can't help it…' Greg opened it and it continued in print '…I kind of love you.' Then someone had written inside.

'Mandy, I know that right now we are really struggling to deal with it all but just know that eventually all of this will be worth it when it's over and we can be happy. Happy Valentine's Day. X'

_Man's writing, again unrushed – same as the writing on the envelope._

Sherlock shot back to when he had entered the door and looked at the mail. Next to the mail there had been a pad, beside the phone. It had scribbled on it 'Call garage on Mon'.

_Not same handwriting._

Sherlock looked around. "No one heard anything?"

Lestrade flipped over some pages in his notebook. "A Mr Scott, flat below, heard arguments and then a loud noise but put it down to the television or music. He said that the walls are thin so he can usually hear noise anyway but with it being Valentine's Day he thought they might have been turning up the volume so that he couldn't hear." Sherlock nodded and exited the living room, he quickly looked in the bathroom and then looked in the bedroom.

 _Very clean. Rose petals scattered everywhere. Were arranged with care and then disturbed aggressively. Drawer slightly open._ He walked over and looked inside. _Fabric to wrap it in, bought for safety. Paranoid and probably emotionally abusive._

As he turned around he saw a scuff mark on the leg of the table in the hall.

_High heeled shoe mark._

"Right…" Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "There was a third person."

"A third? Oh, alright mate?" Lestrade looked over Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock turned to see John.

_John. Captain John Watson, MD. John and Mary. Mary Elizabeth Watson. Mary Elizabeth Moriarty. Stop!_

John walked into the hallway of the flat smiling until he saw Sherlock staring at him then Greg looked.

"What?" John looked to Greg then back to Sherlock.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked. 

_Why?! Why is he here?!_

"I called him?" Greg looked confused.

_Faking it. He's called him because I didn't._

"Well, you shouldn't have." Sherlock raised his eyebrow at Lestrade and walked further into the hallway putting all of the information in the right place.

"Oh right, got it all figured out then?" John looked through to the body on the floor in the living room.

"Yes." Sherlock stopped and tried to sort through everything but he couldn't separate the information from this scene and from what he knew. Even sentences he had previously heard were thrown at him, but not in the voice of the person he knew had said them. The sheer volume of information flooding him, bleeding out from his mind to his vision made him feel a little queasy so he closed his eyes.

_James Watson. No, James Walton. Shot in Afghanistan. No, shot in his living room. By his wife's brother. No, by his wife's lover. His wife, Mary Walton. No, Mary Watson. Mary Moriarty. I have a debt to pay and I'll pay it eventually. Everyone's entitled to their own secrets. Secrets. You have one, don't you Sherlock? From John. Everyone knows except the two men standing in front of you right now. The two men who have the most faith in you in the world and all because the only man who has ever loved you for who you are, your brother, is keeping yet another one for you. When will you stop? When will you grow up? When will you grow up, Sherlock! Grow up, Sherlock!_

All of a sudden Sherlock could see his father.

_'When will you grow up, Sherlock? You are thirteen years old and you still take tantrums like a child!' He pulled Sherlock's hands away from his face as he leaned over his son. 'Look at me when I'm talking to you and stop crying! Crying like a child! Emotions are for children, Sherlock. Caring is not an advantage. It's just a dog!'_

_'Father?' Mycroft stood looking at his younger brother as his father turned to his eldest, his face as emotionless as his father's. 'They were very close…'_

_'Close?' He straightened up. Sherlock didn't dare lift his hands back to his eyes. 'How ridiculous. You get close to people, if you must, not animals. And you do not cry like an infant when it dies. Where does that get you?' Sherlock was struggling to stop his sobs. 'Answer me, Sherlock!' Sherlock tried but he couldn't. 'Mycroft, where does that get you?' There was a pause when Mr Holmes turned to look at Mycroft._

_'Nowhere, Father.'_

_'Correct. You do **not** get involved. Being involved impairs your judgement… The cost is too high. Stop crying." He inhaled irritated. 'Stop!' Sherlock held his breath. His father's voice echoed throughout the dark office they were in. 'Mycroft, come on.' Mr Holmes took one last displeased look at Sherlock before walking out of the door._

_Mycroft's face changed as his father left – it showed sadness. He walked over to his brother, fished in his right trouser pocket and kneeled down to Sherlock's level, he took out a blue silk handkerchief and moved it up to wipe his brother's cheek when he was screamed to a halt, the hanky millimetres from Sherlock's face._

_'MYCROFT!'_

_Mycroft looked to his right a little as his Father's voice boomed down the hall. He turned back to Sherlock, put his left hand on his upper arm briefly and handed him the hanky with his right before standing back up and leaving to follow his Father. Sherlock slowly let himself breathe again._

"Sherlock!" Sherlock was shaken back into the present by John's voice. "You alright?" Sherlock looked at John who moved his hand from the same spot of Sherlock's right upper arm to his shoulder, the hand he had used to rouse him for his memory. Sherlock turned his head to look at the hand.

_T_ _he ring._

"Sherlock." John pointed to Sherlock's left cheek with his right index finger and lowered his left hand.

"You upset?" Greg fished in his pocket and held out a red silk handkerchief to Sherlock.

_Mycroft's._

Sherlock looked from the hanky to John and finally to Greg. He wiped his face with his hand. "Upset?" He scrunched up his face with the usual distaste as Greg stuffed the hanky back in his pocket. "I don't do upset. My brother is the one who has taken to emotions of late. Not me." He ignored Greg's knowing look as he pushed passed the detective and back into the sitting room.

_'When you're hiding something, been sussed out… you insult someone, usually one of us.'_

"You can leave now, John."

"No, I'll just listen then."

"Uh, my crime scene, remember? I called him." Greg looked up getting a little annoyed.

Sherlock paused. "Fine. Don't touch anything." John looked on, not showing any change in his face but clearly aware that Sherlock was giving him attitude. "This was an unplanned murder. Mrs Wat-Walton," Sherlock cleared his throat, John furrowed his brow a little and Greg looked from Sherlock to John. "She planned on leaving her husband and was having an affair. Her husband came home and found out so they laid in wait for the other man in here, when he arrived there was a scuffle and Mrs Walton was shot. After that, the other man had gained possession of the gun and shot the husband, possibly by accident. Then, thinking she was dead, he retreats trying to cover his tracks."

The two men just stood looking around the room for clues as to how he go there.

Sherlock stalked around trying to focus on the body and fuzz out everything else.

_Fuzz out John._

"Um, judging by the set up in the bedroom she was expecting a Valentine's night but he's dressed as if he was at work."

"He could have just came home?" John spoke the voice of matrimony and it made Sherlock's teeth itch.

"Yes, but his briefcase was here," he pointed to it, "and the card we found in the husbands pocket says affair." He gestured to Lestrade who, being the only one wearing gloves held it open as John read it. "So he's gone to work, she's gotten ready. But he's left his briefcase, likely by accident, judging by the kick he gives it at some point. Anyway, he's back." Sherlock walked back into the hall with John and Greg following him. "He's walked in and put his keys on the table, there's a slight fade on the wood where he always puts them and she moves them to the bowl – she hasn't so there wasn't a period of time of peace after he walked in for her to do that."

John and Greg looked between him and what he was talking about.

Sherlock pointed to the open lipstick on the floor, "She's been standing in front of the mirror putting lipstick on and dropped it in surprise." Sherlock walked to the door and turned facing the bedroom, the bed was visible from there even if the door had been left open. "He's then saw the bedroom, gotten angry," Sherlock walked into the room as Greg and Lestrade watched, "and lashed out." He imitated the movement the husband probably used to scatter the petals everywhere.

As he did his mind exchanged the rose petals for confetti and he was back at John's wedding.

_'Er, just the bride and groom, please.'_

_'Sherlock.'_

"Sherlock?" Sherlock shook his head as John said his name, both in his memory and reality.

"What? Yes, anyway he grabs his gun…" Sherlock turned towards the slightly open drawer, "the fact that he even has a revolver shows that he doesn't need it for regular criminal activity, he's had it for a long time and he's paranoid meaning he's more than likely an abusive partner." He imitated the gun with two fingers on his right hand. "Having followed him into the bedroom, when he turns with the gun she probably didn't know he had, she turns to run for the door that he's closed behind him. He follows her, he's quicker and he grabs her."

Sherlock walked back towards Greg and John in the hallway pointing to the scuff mark on the table leg.

"She tries to get out of his grasp, kicking out, but he's too strong and he doesn't try to stop her shouting because he knows the neighbour won't complain. Like he said, the man downstairs is used to noise from this flat. The husband forces her into the living room, she sits on the couch," the three men looked in the door as Sherlock indicated the cushion with the blood, "he stands," Sherlock pointed to the body. "They argued, he was furious." He indicated the briefcase, kicked against the wall for no other obvious reason than for something to kick. Sherlock turned back towards the door, "The lover comes in, card in hand, he doesn't bring anything else because she would have to hide it from her husband but a card is easier to hide, stuff it in some files he wouldn't look at and it'll be fine."

"Why didn't the boyfriend run?" Greg looked to the door and then back to the living room. "He would have seen the husband and girlfriend in the living room if they left the door open and if they didn't then he would have seen the keys on the table?"

"They did leave the door open, which means he also saw the gun. The husband wouldn't aim it at him because there would be a chance to get away, no, he keeps it aimed at her to get him to come inside and close the door without a fight. He comes in, the husband spots the card, gets him to show him it – likely moving to here." Sherlock walks in and stands near the end of the coffee table and indicated with both of his open palmed hands pointing downwards. "He gets even angrier in finding out that it wasn't just sex but that she was going to leave him. He scrunches it and then, deciding he's taking control, pockets it and probably goes into some speech about how if he can't have her then no one can. He aims the gun properly-"

Sherlock aimed his improvised gun which was still his right hand, at where she would have been standing, now facing them both, and his mind broke off again.

_'Oh, it's loaded, Sherlock.'_

"Uh... uh-" Sherlock tried to push it back, Greg and John shared a look. "Uh, he aims the gun back at her and the boyfriend takes his chance. He struggles-" Sherlock looked at John who was standing closest to Sherlock, about where the wife's boyfriend would have been.

"What?" John just looked at the detective surprised.

"They struggled!" Sherlock gestured to himself not sure why he was doing this and then re-aimed his imaginary gun.

Lestrade moved behind the couch to watch when John tried to grab the 'gun' and Sherlock directed the struggle. He pushed downwards on his arms and knocked his knee against the table.

"The table gets knocked-"

_'Yes, Captain. We are not your enemies! We were just…'_

"-in the struggle then," Sherlock turned his wrist to point his hand upwards in the direction of where the wife had been standing, "the gun goes off." Keeping their positions but not moving Sherlock gestured his head to the bullet hole in the ceiling. "It hits her in the head at an upward angle and embeds itself in the cornice. Distracted by the wife falling back onto the couch, the lover gets the gun." Sherlock removed his hand and John pointed his 'gun' at Sherlock as the detective put his hands in the air.

_'I could do it, you know?'_

"When the husband tries to go to her, he steps in the way." John did as directed standing between Sherlock and the cushion. "I then go this way, probably shouting about how she was dead and blaming the boyfriend. He shoots." Sherlock stepped over the body and then indicated downwards as John lowered his arm just a little.

"Cold blood then." Greg exhaled popping the card into an evidence bag.

"My guess is that in the panic the gun just went off. " Sherlock looked to the husband's body. "Arguing and sweating. He panics thinking that she's dead, he drops the gun when the sudden realisation hits him. He knows what he's done…" Sherlock couldn't help but look at John. "He knows that it's all his fault, the fact that he didn't plan it this way doesn't matter, and he knows that all of the pain, hurt and blood is on his hands. A man lying dead… Because of him." Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away as John looked round. Neither of them noticed Greg watching.

"Why doesn't he check that she's alive?" Greg points to John without thinking as both men have bought the scene and their parts in it.

"For the same reason he doesn't phone the police – he's an idiot." They both looked at Sherlock confused. "And selfish."

"Sherlock, he wasn't thinking clearly." John spoke as Greg stood still confused.

"He doesn't phone the ambulance or police but thinks clear enough to wipe the door handle, inside the flat and out, closes the door, then he takes the lift down because that's the way he came up. Most people would run away from the scene with shock, he would run for the stairs and out the building but this one goes out the way he came to make sure he wipes all of the buttons and rips out the sign in sheet before running out." The two men looked a little defeated by Sherlock's logic. "He may not have been thinking as clearly as usual but his first thought was not his lover it was himself. Although, he did let the door slam on his way out which woke the doorman and therefore gave us a timeline."

"He signed in because he expected a Valentine's night, not to be confronted and become a murderer," Greg said in realisation. "So he grabbed the top sheet in haste." Sherlock nodded and walked out of the flat.

"And completely forgot about the cameras," John muttered as they walked through the flats doorway and back to the lift.

They got back into the lift, Sherlock stood with his hands clasped behind him and staring up at the ceiling ignoring John. John looked at Sherlock with narrowed eyes wondering why he was acting the way he was towards him. Greg however was processing everything Sherlock had told him, wondering how they had missed the bullet hole in the cornice and trying to ignore the tension in the shaft.

[G] _Something is going on with Mycroft and something is clearly going on with Sherlock. John doesn't appear to know what either. What secret are they keeping this time?_

Greg sighed audibly, pulled off the glove from his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck. John looked at him as he stuffed it in his left pocket and leaned his left hand, still gloved, on the bar that ran along the three mirrored walls of the elevator. John looked at the hand.

"He's an idiot," John echoed.

Sherlock and Greg, his hand still on his neck, looked to John as he then looked around smiling as if realising something.

"What?" Greg spoke assuming that Sherlock would just ignore John, the mood he was in.

"You said he walked in the door and signed in because he was expecting a Valentine's night with the woman he loves?" Sherlock nodded slightly. "Well, he'd be relaxed, probably even laugh to himself as the doorman slept. He'd come in here, card in one hand and look up, the way people do when they're going up in a lift. We all looked down when we walked in because we were going down. We were relaxed since we've practically solved it." John laughed a little, not mockingly but at the simplicity of something.

_[Back to S] What?_

" _I've_ practically solved it," Sherlock quipped trying to sound less than interested in what John was saying but he was. He was very interested.

_J_ _ohn has that look. He's found something, something that I am too clinical to see. Just like he always does._

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on John laughing.

_Sherlock could see John laughing as he walked back into his wedding reception followed by a confused Greg._

_'What are you laughing at?' Mary was almost laughing herself. Mary._

"What are you laughing at?" Greg asked, still standing as he was, rubbing his neck like crazy. Sherlock shook back into the room as the door opened at ground level.

"Well, we're relaxed like he was?" Greg shook his head in question. "Well, ignore us two. Sherlock always stands like that and I stand like I did in the Army, old habits, but look at you. Look at how you're standing." He indicated Greg's hand and Sherlock lifted his head in realisation.

"You're leaning on the bar," Sherlock said.

Greg looked to his left hand, indeed curled around the bar. He looked up, press the 'stall' button that kept the shaft on the ground floor with his gloved hand and exited it into the small reception area.

"Oi," he grabbed the first officer who was the female from earlier, "when the lift was dusted did they dust the bar?"

"The bar, sir?" she asked.

Greg got annoyed, suddenly understanding how Sherlock feels. "The bar, the bar!" he repeated, pointing and she looked as Sherlock and John walked out of it. "The one that runs along the inside?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know sir."

He grunted in frustration and walked behind the desk as Sherlock and John followed. The older officer, the big-mouthed one, was sitting in control of the cameras and Mr Roberts was standing behind him, having helped him to work it he had stood back and waited – the guilt still very evident on his face.

_And exhaustion._

"Show me the lift camera in the timeframe." The officer nodded and pointed to the third screen where the footage was ready, on pause, at the start of the timeframe; 9:37pm. "Forward." The image started forwarding. "Stop!" A man got into the lift and the officer paused it. Greg put the card, in its evidence bag, up next to the screen to compare.

"It's the same one." John smirked as he leaned over and Greg looked to him and smiled.

"Play it normally, I want to see what he does." The officer nodded and played it. The man pressed the button, laughed a little, looked up as he wiggled the card in his hand and his left hand disappeared behind his coat. "Pause that." He did so. Greg and John squinted at the screen. "I don't know…"

"No, me neither," John whispered also squinting at the image.

Sherlock sighed as he leaned over. "There." He pointed to the mirror behind him.

His hand was indeed, curled around the bar.

Greg straightened up and smiled before turning to the doorman. "Mr Roberts, recall seeing this man last night?"

Keith stepped forward and looked at the screen. "No." John and Greg huffed. "But…"

They all turned back. "But what?" Sherlock asked.

"That's Danny Moore." They looked at him again. "He's Mrs Walton's yoga man."

Sherlock exhaled a laugh through his nose.

He smiled at John who laughed back. "Never trust the yoga man," he said.

Greg watched and then turned to the female officer again. "Get Anderson back down here, tell him to dust that bar."

"Yes, sir."

"And tell him he's an incompetent idiot," Sherlock stated in all seriousness.

They all looked at him before Greg realised he was referring to the bullet hole. "Yes, use those _exact_ words, constable, and when he asks why tell him to go and look at the ceiling in the living room of the flat." John realised too and then smiled a little. "Bloody big bullet hole and he missed it." Greg shook his head and left as the female officer tried to suppress her smile.

"Well that settles it," John muttered still smiling.

"Settles what?" Sherlock watched Greg leave thinking about the look on his face when Sherlock had mentioned Mycroft and then his eyes when the Inspector had expressed concern.

"Mary is never getting a yoga instructor." John walked after Greg.

Sherlock's smile fell.

_Mary._


	15. Chapter 15

**[Mycroft's]**

Mycroft was sitting in his office inspecting that same file for, what felt like, the hundredth time.

_#17181, Mary Elizabeth Watson nee Moriarty, born 28/02/74 (aged 39) in India. Moved to Dublin, Ireland, at nineteen months. James was born 26/10/76. Mother died fourteen months after James' birth. Father died in 1991, James joined the army in 1992 and died on the front line while under attack in '94 (aged 18). Awarded a Victoria cross posthumously in 1996._

Mycroft was brought out of his reading when his phone vibrated on the leather on the desk.

_'Sherlock'_

He hesitated and then picked it up. "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

_"Why would you assume something was wrong?"_

Mycroft breathed relief. "Because you only ever phone me when you want something or there's something wrong so I guess you want something. Well, if it's a case I am sorry to disappoint you, I have nothing of note for you."

_Unless you want to work for the CIA and then die for the CIA in roughly six months times._

_"No, I wasn't calling for a case. Greg caught one this morning."_

"Solved it already?" Mycroft smirked a little.

_"Of course. It was elementary. I called for two reasons actually."_

"And they are?" Mycroft closed the file on his desk and sat back, he was slowly shaking his foot which was making his chair wobble just a little.

 _"I want you to tell Greg."_ Mycroft stopped all movement. _"About Mary."_

"What? Why?" Mycroft could hear Sherlock blowing smoke into the speaker and he pulled the phone away from his ear while his face showed irritation. "Sherlock, I do wish you would aim your smoke away from the microphone when you call me."

_"Sorry."_

_Did he just apologise without disdain?_

_"I want you to tell Greg about Mary, no matter what happens with it he needs to know. We have already kept one secret from him and if we continue to keep this one you will definitely lose him this time."_

Mycroft paused.

_He's right._

_"He already knows something is wrong, he told me today, and if you don't tell him now then it'll be too late. Go home and tell him, Mycroft. Or I will."_

Mycroft's eyes widened. "You will?"

_"When I faked my death we had no choice but to keep it from him. We could have told him but there is no way he would have been able to keep it from John so we couldn't tell him. Now you have a choice Mycroft, I will not watch you lose him and certainly not because of me. Tell him." There was a long exhale before he spoke again, "I beg you, tell him before it's too late."_

Mycroft's mouth felt dry while his eyes felt anything but. He reached in his pocket for a hanky and found it empty.

 _"If you're looking for your red handkerchief Greg has it."_ Mycroft remember that morning and smirked. _"I don't even want to know."_

Mycroft let out a laugh. "No, no brother, you don't." Mycroft bit his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing and he could have sworn he heard an exhaled laugh on the other end of the phone. Then he thought. "Is he okay?"

_"What do you mean?"_

"At work, to you… Does he seem okay?"

There was a thoughtful silence. _"He's still very much his own worst enemy."_

"He has no faith in his own abilities."

_"It can be quite intimidating, dating a Holmes."_

"How would you know?" The remark was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

 _"I wasn't criticising Mycroft," t_ here was no venom in his voice, as if he was too upset or anxious to be hurt, _"I mean it. You may not **try** to intimidate him, and I have no doubt that you don't, but he will feel it. Unfortunately a Holmes is who you are and therefore there is nothing you can do to stop the way he feels about that, you can however, counter the effects by making sure he knows how valued he is to you. And to me."_

Mycroft stuttered, "T-To you?"

_"Yes, he is a good man, a kind, humble, strong man. A fine detective who is out there every day fighting for justice, even putting his job on the line to make sure he does the right thing in that fight. He is a perfect match for you and a perfect friend for me. He's invaluable."_

"I couldn't agree more."

_"And that is why you have to tell him, Mycroft. I don't see that I should have to say any more to convince you."_

"You had me at your first insistence." There was another pause. "And the second reason?"

_"I'm sorry?"_

"You said that you were calling me for two reasons – what was the second?" he asked.

 _"Oh."_ Again another exhale. _"That new aftershave you put on this morning."_

"Yes?" Mycroft didn't even care how Sherlock knew.

_"Lestrade is particularly fond of it."_

"I know." Mycroft smiled and there was a click on the other end.

>><<

**[Greg's]**

_I will just go in there and demand to know what's going on. I will say –_

"Mycroft, I have every right to know whats-" Lestrade had to hit his brakes hard as he almost slammed into a driver turning into the narrow street that Greg was coming along. "Oi! Are you blind mate?" Lestrade leaned out his window and shouted at the other driver,"This is a one way street! And why are you going that fast? It's a twenty zone!"

"Everyone drives up there, why you shouting?" the other driver shouted back out of his window.

Lestrade pressed a button in his car and watched the other driver swear to himself as the sirens flashed.

"Pull over." Lestrade was in no mood and he was certainly not in the mood for someone ignoring the signs and speed limits in a school area. "Idiot," Lestrade whispered to himself as he pulled his own car in to the side and got out. "Now, let's start again. License." He beckoned quickly with two fingers as the man sighed and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

When he handed it over Lestrade looked at it. "Right, Mr… Andrews. Explain to me, if 'everyone drives up there' even though it's illegal… Does that make it alright?"

"Well, _obviously_ it doesn't." The man, in his early thirties and, judging by the van he was driving, a joiner.

_That and the sawdust all over him._

_'Obviously.'_

Lestrade ignored Sherlock's voice and focused on the license. "Drop the attitude." The man was quite taken aback by how quiet the Inspector had said it. But, Greg wasn't talking to him.

"Sorry," the man mumbled and wiped his face. "Look…" Lestrade looked up to a much softer expression that had gotten out the car. "I don't usually take that turn and don't usually go that fast but…" He sighed.

"But?" Lestrade stood waiting with a less than amused look on his face.

"I know it's not an excuse but I was trying to get home, I'm running late because of my last job, my wife starts her job in half an hour and I have to get home to be there for the baby. I'm sorry but…" He pointed up the street, another ran parallel to the one-way street Greg had just drove along, and it was tail to tail with traffic. The man had turned right with the hope of taking a left into a shortcut before almost running into Greg.

"This is rush hour, Mr Andrews. And there is also a Primary School right there." Greg gestured behind him up the road. "If you come hurtling up this road, the kids and parents around here aren't going to expect it and you could cause an accident. You might even kill someone."

"But the kids got out hours ago?"

"Regardless, thems the rules." Lestrade handed the man back his license. "And not all of them." He pointed as a girl came out of the school grounds, that had looked closed up, with something in her hand. He turned back to the man and his face looked much like Lestrade felt. "Where'd you live?"

The man looked at him. "Hallfield Estate, I usually just miss the rush and it takes ten minutes but…" He shoved his license back into his wallet.

Lestrade walked back to his car. "You tell anyone about this and I will find a reason to give you more than a ticket." The man just stood there completely clueless. "Well come on, I have a home to go to too?" The man pushed himself off of the car door and jumped back in. Lestrade shook his head and jumped in, he leaned out his window. "Keep up." The man nodded and followed Lestrade and his sirens.

>><<

Pulling out of the estate Lestrade had smiled to himself.

_If I see him driving like that again then he will be ticketed. Around a school, as well. I have his reg number, I'll put a watch out._

"Yeah, like you've never taken a right when you shouldn't have," he said to an empty car.

He shook his head.

_Talking to yourself again, Greg. It's better than- Shit, red light. I'm going hit every light now. I suppose it's better than hearing Sherlock's voice._

"Obviously," Lestrade mocked. "I can hardly talk, I live with his brother." Lestrade gave an anxious exhale. "Mycroft…"

_Why won't he just talk to me? We agreed we would talk, I told him that day._

_'Listen, in all seriousness…'_

_Lestrade looked into Mycroft's eyes as they stopped laughing and smiled. They were lying, wrapped in their bed sheet, having gotten side tracked. You know how it is. They were arguing one minute, then as they spoke about the possibility of losing each other they began to cry and hugged each other which led to kissing in between talking which led to… Well, anyway. They were lying in bed laughing about how they ended up there and Greg punching Sherlock._

_'… anything you are worried about or if there's anything you think that you can't tell me, please just tell me. I will at least try to understand anything but don't keep it from me. That's the worst thing, okay?'_

_'There will be things-'_

_'I don't mean the world's secrets, Mycroft. I mean stuff that affects us.'_

_'Fair enough.'_

Lestrade pulled into his grounds and was met by Alfred and Parker.

"Good evening, sir." Lestrade stopped beside the man. "Parker will put your car in the garage for you."

"No, it's okay I can do it." He smiled and they looked between themselves awkwardly.

_Why would they offer to…? Oh._

"Did Mycroft ask you to?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Parker replied a bit hesitant, as if he were tattling.

Lestrade switched off the engine, unclicked his seatbelt and handed the man the keys as he got out. "I know it's your job but I feel weird having you do things I can do for myself," Greg explained feeling awkward himself.

_On the one hand it feels like slavery but on the other it's their job and they are not here against their will. It just feels weird. I don't even like it now that Anderson has started bringing me coffee._

"As you said, sir – it's our job." Alfred smiled as Parker got into the car. "Mr Holmes is in the dining room, sir." Alfred followed Greg into the door or the house and helped him off with his coat. "He requested that I tell you that dinner is ready when you are, sir." Greg looked slightly annoyed. "Also that there was no rush." He smiled knowingly.

"I don't like feeling summoned," Greg explained.

"May I speak inappropriately bold, sir?"

"Always, Alfred." Greg smiled.

"Mr Holmes has always summoned his staff because it is all he knows but believe me when I say that is learned behaviour and not easily so."

"What was he like, Alfred, as a child?" Greg looked at the man, much greyer than himself.

"Well, I started working here when he was eleven, sir. Mr Holmes, the younger, was just an infant and the extra help was required. He was…" The man hesitated.

"You can talk to me, Alfred." Greg laughed as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped it off before Alfred put his hand out to receive it.

"Well, to be quite frank sir he was the nicest little boy I had ever encountered in my short career at that point. I had ideas to work in a grand palace, not that this place is not grand, sir." Greg smiled. "But while I knew this place was special I had ideals or being one staff of hundreds."

"What happened?"

"Mr Holmes did." Greg raised his eyebrows and pointed in the direction of the dining room. "Yes, Mr Holmes, the senior. He was the kindest little boy, he had such an imagination running around this place and would engage the staff in games when his father wasn't watching. He absorbed everything around him. With the younger Holmes he was curious and protective as if he were guarding royalty."

"No change there then." Greg laughed and went to walk away.

"Sir," Greg turned back to Alfred, "again to be bold…" He hesitated and Greg nodded. "He changed, his father was…" Alfred paused as if he were worried about what he wanted to say. "Well, he wasn't a very warm man, very business-like and suspicious."

"Remind you of anyone?" Greg laughed looking in the direction of the dining room.

"Well, that's exactly my point, sir. Mr Holmes was brought up a certain way, he absorbed everything around him but that included what his father taught him. He became him and, I regret to say, that included the way he was towards people and his staff. And then you entered his life."

"We've know each other for a long time." Greg looked confused as to where this was going and he could now smell his dinner drifting through the house.

"Yes, sir, and as much as... certain events have changed Mr Holmes-" Greg looked at his feet.

_Sherlock's suicide attempt in these very grounds._

"-ever since you have been as much a part of his life that you are now."

"Since we've been a relationship?" Greg asked, wondering if the man didn't want to be  _too bold_ or if he had a genuine problem with them, even though he didn't seem to be bothered Greg figured with professionals like these that no one ever would.

"Yes, ever since then… well, he's slowly been turning back into that little boy, sir." Greg smiled. "My point is that… Mr Holmes never summons _you_ , sir." He bowed his head and walked away.

Greg stood there thinking about everything Alfred had said.

_He wouldn't be able to say that about Sherlock. Thirty-six years is a long time to work for a family. I wonder if I'll be walking in that door in even six years times. I hope so. Not if he doesn't talk to me._

Greg rolled up his sleeves and made for the bathroom to wash up.

_It isn't even a bathroom, it doesn't have a bath or a toilet – it just has a sink. There is a whole room dedicated to washing up for dinner. It will always confuse me._

He ran his hands under the water and looked in the mirror. "I'm getting old."

"I disagree." Mycroft smiled in the mirror from behind him but there was something in his eye. Greg looked back at him and reached for the towel. Mycroft took a couple of steps into the wash room. "Are you ready for dinner?" Greg shook his head as he looked at the rack. "Well, whenever you are I'll be-"

Greg leaned over Mycroft and pushed the door behind him closed with his left hand. "No, you won't be waiting through there." The door slammed and Mycroft looked to his right at it as it did and then back to Lestrade.

"Excuse me?"

"Mycroft…" Greg rolled his sleeves back down as he spoke, very slowly and calmly, but he didn't break eye contact with his partner. "I want you to listen to me very closely." Greg's voice matched his behaviour; calm and deliberate. And equally serious. "I told you after Sherlock came back that I understood there would be things that you couldn't tell me – it's an occupational hazard you said and I completely agree." Greg began buttoning his cuffs, again not looking away from Mycroft. "I also told you that if there was ever anything that would affect us I wanted you to tell me, whether you felt like you could or not, I wanted you to ignore that little voice in that brilliant head of yours that tells you not to come to me and tell me the truth. I wanted you to just trust in how I feel for you and tell me, and that as long as you told me I would try my hardest to understand whatever it was. Now, did I imagine this or did this conversation actually take place?" He lowered his arms and waited.

Mycroft face showed panic and then anger. "I knew it! I knew he would do it again!" Greg jumped as Mycroft swung his right fist and slammed it into the bathroom wall to his right, beside the door. "He was the one who said not to say anything. And after everything that we went through the last time, and everything that I almost lost!"

His jaw tightened and Greg tried to get him to meet his eyes. "Mycroft… Mycroft, talk to me."

"After _everything_ I agreed. I told him, fine we would wait until we figured out what we were going to do. Of course, I knew that he would come to the realisation eventually that there was only one realistic course of action here," he rambled.

"Mycroft?" Greg put his hands on the sides of Mycroft's upper arms.

"So I agreed knowing that he would have to come to terms with what we would be risking and it would be fine. And then he called me and started with 'I want you to tell Greg' as if _I_ was the one that wanted to keep it a secret."

"What secret?"

"And as soon as I hung up I thought about when he came back and his promise that he would let me tell you and I knew then that he would tell you first."

"Babe?" Lestrade was processing everything that Mycroft was saying but all he could hear was Mycroft's anger.

"I swear to you that I never wanted to keep this from you, I promised you that I wouldn't and I was going to tell you over dinner but how could I not agree to give Sherlock just a little time to process everything? I mean, he knows he will be destroying that man's life and after everything he's terrified."

"Mycroft!" Greg shouted and shook his shoulders a little. Mycroft's speech halted and he looked at his partner. "Listen…" Lestrade took a second. "Sherlock hasn't said anything to me."

"He hasn't?" Mycroft's face relaxed a little.

"No. I have noticed a change in you and I've noticed a change in Sherlock. I'm meant to be a detective you know." Neither of them laughed. "Sherlock asked you to keep another secret?" He just nodded. "And he told you to tell me when?"

"Three twenty-seven this afternoon."

"Right after he left my crime scene," Lestrade concluded.

"Yes." Mycroft's breathing was returning to normal but he was still scared.

"So, you finished work and decided to tell me when I got home?" He just nodded again. "This secret, it's about John?" He just nodded again. "Okay then." Lestrade put his right hand under Mycroft's left jawline and kissed him gently. He smiled at Mycroft.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because, Sherlock asked you a favour – you're his brother I can't expect you never to keep a secret for him – it's about John so it's not like it's directly affecting us and you were going to tell me right away, you did everything you could not to keep it from me more than you had to, I can't ask for more than that. Come on," He opened the door and took Mycroft's hand, "you can tell me when we eat like you were going to." They began to walk towards the dining room. "And I think Alfred needs a raise."

>><<

**[Mycroft's & Greg's]**

"So, I asked Andrea-"

"Who's Andrea again?" Lestrade took a sip of his beer.

"My assistant." Mycroft looked up from cutting his chicken.

"She told me her name was Susan?" Greg looked confused.

"Yes, well it probably was that day." Greg kept the same look. "She's easily bored." Mycroft shrugged his shoulders not wanting to get into the psychological trauma of his assistant, not that he could if he wanted to. "You can call her Andrea, it will make it easier." Greg raised his eyebrows in a 'fair enough' gesture and they continued. "I asked her if there was any news on Sherlock and she said no."

"Nothing on that text then?"

Mycroft looked up. "The text?"

"Yeah, the one he got when we were toasting John's engagement."

"Why would you think there would be?"

_Had I missed something?_

"Well Mary said it was a skip code, you don't send a text to Sherlock Holmes and use a skip code if it's nothing?" Greg said with a slight chuckle.

_He's right. What an idiot._

"You're right, how did I miss that? Excuse me." Mycroft put his napkin on the table and stood up. Greg leaned forward and took his phone. Mycroft watched as Greg searched through it, pushed a button and put it to his ear before holding it out to Mycroft.

"It's ringing." Mycroft took it slowly and Greg pointed his index finger down. "Sit." Mycroft did as he was told.

_"Sir?"_

"Andrea, I want you to look into a text my brother received on the fourth of-"

"Fifth," Greg mumbled while eating bread, covering his mouth with his right hand as he did so. Mycroft looked at him in question. Greg looked to the side. "It was the fifth?" Mycroft remained unconvinced. "It _was_ because we all spoke about not drinking too much since we had work the next day."

_Oh, so it was._

"The fifth of January. It will appear as if it doesn't make any sense but it's a skip code and he most likely doesn't respond to it."

_"Yes, sir."_

Mycroft clicked the phone and put it back in his pocket. "I hate talking on the telephone while at the dinner table." Mycroft was slightly annoyed. "And I don't much enjoy being ordered about since you are always so emphatically sensitive about my doing it to you. Even though I'm not."

"I don't enjoy being lied to." Greg saw the itch of hurt on Mycroft's face as he settled the napkin back on his lap.

_I wish he wouldn't do that face._

Greg wiped his hands on the napkin on his own lap and reached his left across the table to Mycroft's. "Look, you're right, I'm sorry."

Mycroft nodded a little in recognition. "Thank you."

"But if you wandered off to talk to her then god knows if I'd ever get this out of you and I'm sorry but…" He exhaled. "I need to know, I'm sorry but I just do."

Mycroft turned his right hand upwards and returned Greg's hold. "I know." He took a sip of his wine and when Greg made to let go he held on tighter. "Promise me that you will let Sherlock deal with this."

Greg looked at Mycroft not saying anything.

"Trust me."

Greg squeezed Mycroft's hand a little. "Okay. I promise you I will let Sherlock deal with this. Just tell me what _this_ is."

"Andrea said that nothing had come back on Sherlock but a few minutes later she told me something had come back."

"On Sherlock?"

Mycroft shook his head, just a little. "On the Watson's." Greg just waited. "It turns out that… Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1982."

Greg stuttered. "I don't- So, hold on, who has John married?"

"Mary Moriarty."

Greg let his arm fall and slam the glass down on the table. "What?" He let go of Mycroft's hand. "No, no, hold on."

"Calm down." Mycroft put his napkin on the table again.

"Calm down, my mate has married, who, the sister?" Mycroft nodded. "The _sister_ of the man who sacrificed his life for him and his unit. The man who haunted him so much that he tried to kill himself, what six times? And you want me to calm down?" He too put his napkin on the table a little less gently than Mycroft had. "And, _and_ you want me to let Sherlock deal with this?" He stood up and Mycroft did the same. "Sherlock? Your Sherlock?"

"Greg can you just look at me and stop freaking out?"

"I am not freaking out!"

_He is._

"I am reacting perfectly normally when my partner and his brother have been keeping a secret from me." Mycroft looked guilty again as he stood looking at Greg waving his arms around as he paced. "And I thought it would be something like Sherlock was back on the sauce but no, my partner and his brother are trying to figure out the best way to tell my other mate, who has been through the ringer and back to the point that my partner's brother had to fake his own death just to stop my other mate from killing himself."

Mycroft was struggling to keep up even as he concentrated on what he was saying, he even had to look up to his right to keep track.

"And now my other mate has gotten married and is the happiest I've ever ever seen him and now, _now_ we all have to watch as my partner's brother tells my other mate that the woman he loves and is keeping him alive is actually the sister of the man who haunts him and was the reason for his attempted suicides and we all have to watch as he crumbles back into a million pieces. And we will all have to stand around his grave because he will, he will kill himself this time and then we will all have to watch my partner's brother crumble as well because this will crush him too. After everything, Sherlock Holmes is going to be the one to shatter John Watson's life and, ultimately, kill him." He was breathing erratically. "Shit, shit Mycroft. What are we going to do?" He wrapped his arms around Mycroft's shoulders and pulled him close. Mycroft got a little shock and then wrapped his arms Greg's back just as tightly. "What are we going to do?"

"You promised that you would let Sher-"

Greg pulled back and looked at Mycroft. "Piss off. Mycroft, if John ends up killing himself I will be devastated. If Sherlock then hits rock bottom as well I will be devastated. But if that happens then you will drop as well and if that happens," Greg suddenly welled up quicker than he could stop it, "then I will be broken." He shook his head. "Hopelessly broken, so if you think I am keeping that promise then you don't understand how much I love you." He grabbed Mycroft again and Mycroft just hugged back.

_What else can I do? I am not even going to attempt to argue with that._

>><<

**[Sherlock]**

_Not enough, it's not enough!_

"Not nearly enough!" Sherlock put the three cigarettes to his mouth and lit them.

_Too simple, always too simple!_

"Why can't murders be more taxing?" Sherlock exhaled in frustration as he also exhaled smoke.

"It's almost as if they do it on purpose."

Sherlock turned to see her standing in the doorway, she looked around and started to remove her gloves.

"What do you want?" Sherlock looked at her knowing that it would be pointless, he could never gleam anything from her.

_Infuriatingly. Hair and make-up impeccable but that's nothing new, she is never in a rush._

"You didn't answer my texts."

"So?" Sherlock stood still failing to see any reason.

She walked forward and plucked one of the cigarettes from the left side of his mouth. "So, I thought I'd better check up on you, since Senior is so busy of late." She took a draw and turned away to sit in Sherlock's chair.

_She knows it is mine, she does that on purpose._

"Since when did he entertain the prospect of relationships, and yet here he is with a pet."

"I can assure you, Lestrade is no one's pet," Sherlock defended.

"Neither is John. Well, he's certainly not yours anyway, not anymore."

"The idea that John Watson would be anyone's pet is…"

"A turn on?" She lifted her eyebrow.

_Doing it to annoy me._

"I will ask again, what do you want?" Sherlock rounded the back of her and stopped in front of the fireplace.

She hesitated as her eyes followed him, then where he would be and rested back on him again. "I thought you might be _bored_." Sherlock lifted his head and gaze a little understanding what she was referring to. "John has flown the nest, Lestrade, was it, has shacked up with Senior, leaving Junior all alone. Even Mrs Hudson has the dear baker next door. Poor poor, Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective in the funny hat."

Sherlock grimaced slightly at the mention of that _bloody ear hat!_

"Feeling a sense of déjà vu, Junior?" He looked at her confused. "When brothers Holmes became orphans," Sherlock ignored the rattling on the door at the end of _that_ corridor in his mind, "and Senior went away to university you had no one. And who have you got now?"

Sherlock sat in John's chair reluctantly and trying not to react.

_She's right though. Stop!_

He rubbed the palm of his right hand with his left thumb, getting more aggressive as she spoke.

"All alone in the world with your pain and sacrifices. Mycroft never even realised, did he, what you did for him? He wanted to be a business man like his father and you just wanted a brother to play with and love you back, didn't you? And what did you get instead? A dog."

"Much easier to deal with, I assure you."

' _She's right, Sherlock. I could never be the brother you wanted, the brother you needed.'_

_Shut up, Mycroft!_

"And even he left you, didn't he?" she asked.

"Tends to happen after death, they don't stick around," Sherlock quipped and stood up quickly.

"Oh, did I hit a sore spot?"

"Get out." Sherlock pointed to the door as he burled on the spot. She made to speak. "I don't care what you think. I do not need anybody and I do not need drugs. So… Get out." He brought his left hand back to his right.

_C_ _an't tell if it hurts or if it's itchy._

She paused before standing. She walked over to him and kissed his cheek slowly before pulling back and gently wiping her lipstick. It wasn't to wipe it away since it was just one rub of her right thumb on his left cheek but she did it nonetheless.

"Remember Junior, when no one else was I was there. And that feeling…" She looked at his lips, still dangerously close to his face.

_That's what she does, she tries to awaken all of your senses so that when she forces the memory to the front of your mind you will remember it in every way possible._

"That rush sweeping over you, is the only thing that satisfies Sherlock Holmes." She flicked her eyes up to look in his. "And you know it." She then walked away, slowly and deliberately.

_As always._

Her heels clicked on the stairs. "Call me, Junior." He turned his head to her as she stopped and turned hers to his. "I'm always free for dinner." She smirked and walked out.

Sherlock turned his head back to where she had sat.

_In my chair, she likes to do that – she knows I'm the king of my castle and when she takes my chair she attempts to take control of the room._

Sherlock walked down the hall to the bathroom trying to pretend that it didn't work. As he took the handle with his right hand he received a jolt of pain through his right hand _._

_Like an electric shock._

He pulled it off quickly and looked at the palm of his hand as he opened the door with his left.


	16. Chapter 16

**[Sherlock's]**

"You sure about this?" Mary stood holding John's hand outside 221 Baker Street.

"Yeah, why not?" John lifted his key to put it in the door and Mary used her free hand to lower his.

"Because, wouldn't it be better if you were here by yourself?"

"I'm married now." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know why he's acting like this but it's not because of you – he likes you."

"Do you think?"

"You heard him at the wedding, 'when I say that you deserve this man it is the highest compliment of which I am capable'.

"Do you have the speech memorised or something?" She smiled at him as he smiled and closed his eyes, slightly bashful.

"No, I'm just saying that I have a wife now." He squeezed her hand and she smiled a little. "And while things have changed he needs to know that I am still his friend and I am still here for him. We both are, right?"

"Of course! After what he…" She trailed off. John gave her a kiss and lifted his arm again. She opened her mouth and he stopped in question. "Well, shouldn't you knock? I know that nothing is going to change but if you act like that with him then he's going to think he can do the same and do you really want to come home one day to find him already there?"

John thought about it. "No, but I also don't want him to think that I'm just withdrawing from his life completely." She nodded and he used the key to enter his old flat and old life.

John took one step inside and stopped when he heard the sounds of the violin drifting down the stairs.

"Maybe he wants to be left alone." Mary offered feeling the tension already.

"Tough." John opened the door for Mary and she closed it behind her. John bounded up the stairs and Mary followed slowly. He walked into the sitting room and Sherlock kept playing but John knew by now that he was in the room. "Alright, I want to know what's going on."

Nothing.

"Sherlock."

He waited and still got nothing.

He took just one step forward. "Sherlock, I know you enough to now when you're in your own world and when you're just pretending so stop acting like a child and LOOK AT ME!"

Sherlock stopped playing as John's voice boomed but he went somewhere so fast he never felt it coming.

_'I said look at me, Sherlock!' His father grabbed Sherlock's chin to make him do just that. But it wasn't Sherlock's father at all, it was Mycroft. 'I want you to answer me.'_

_His jaw was tight as was his grip as sixteen year old Sherlock tried to pull away. Eventually Mycroft released his grip with a push._

_'Sherlock Holmes, I-'_

_'Yes, I know my name, thank you.'_

_Mycroft paused, willing himself not to rise to the bait. He lowered his head just a little as he straightened back up. 'I demand an answer.'_

_'However much you try, Myc, you are not my father.'_

_Sherlock actually got a fright when Mycroft lunged forward and grabbed Sherlock by the front of his shirt with both hands. So much so that both of Sherlock's hands clasped around his brother's and he looked into his brother's eyes. The fear in Sherlock's face seemed to disperse Mycroft's veil of ice for a split second and Sherlock saw genuine pain. He had gone too far._

_Mycroft spoke each word with a pause in between. 'Do not test me, brother mine.' It was the first and only time Sherlock had been honestly scared of his brother._

_'I… I'm sorry.' Sherlock stuttered and Mycroft looked back with slight shock. 'I didn't mean to upset-'_

_'Upset?' Mycroft let his brother go with the same shove he had a few moments ago. 'I do not do 'upset', brother. That would imply emotion which would imply that I cared and caring is not an advantage. So, I will ask this one more time. Where are they?'_

_Sherlock took a step forward to Mycroft's desk and bent down to the floor. He put his hand under the gap between the desk and the floor and then stood up to Mycroft rolling his eyes. He held out the packet of cigarettes and smiled smugly._

_Mycroft snatched them. 'Buy your own cigarettes. I have enough stress, Sherlock.'_

_'I don't want to smoke them, they're low tar – you smoke like a beginner.' Sherlock turned as Mycroft cocked his eyebrow in warning. 'And stress would imply emotion, brother mine.'_

Sherlock shook his head and he was still in 221B, facing the window with his violin under his chin but not playing.

"Okay, now that you are back with me, I asked you to look at me." John was still behind Sherlock and could, evidently, tell when Sherlock went into himself.

_From behind? I don't think I'm comfortable with that._

Sherlock gently put his violin on the table behind him and turned. He stopped dead.

_He's not alone._

"Are you going to tell me what the hell is…" John trailed off and turned to look where Sherlock was staring. At Mary. Mary looked just as confused.

Sherlock was overloaded with information, so much so that his eyes actually fluttered.

_Mary Watson. Morstan. Moriarty. James. Jim. Run, Captain, just fucking run! Let him go, John. Let him go… Captain. Like how I take my tea. Why can't I do it, Sherlock? Braver than invading Iraq._

Sherlock suddenly broke himself off from his thoughts as John tried to rouse him. Sherlock grabbed John's arm and twisted it in an attempt to send him flush against the wall but John was too fast. He spun into the turn and broke off grabbing Sherlock's arm right back and Mary put her hand to her mouth as they fought around the sitting room. Sherlock ducked as John swung his arm.

_Come on, that was a twist and a half. You really need to start announcing yourself. I made sure that I knew his name. I'm sorry, Mr Holmes. Goodbye, John. You stink of cigarettes. Then keep up. Delayed shock._

Mary tried to step forward as Sherlock hit out and John defended himself but by now John had started taking a few blows himself and Sherlock struggled to defend himself.

_Without you I would never have found Mary. It wasn't their faults; it was yours. We are finally celebrating our engagem-_

"I've had enough of this." Mary stood in and pulled John away enough before… Well, before knocking Sherlock on his arse. She had used her leg, curled it round the back of Sherlock's left and knocked him down, where she then turned to John and, with as much love as possible, pushed him up against the wall before holding her hands out to the both of them. "This has got to stop."

Both men were recovering from two kinds of shock. Sherlock was recovering from the shock of being brought out of his thought rush. John was recovering from the shock of his wife pushing him up against a wall, of course she had done it before but in a very different way. And both men were recovering from being separated in such a manner by the one woman who tolerated their antics with almost as much love for it as them.

"You two are ridiculous! You can't go five minutes without pointing a gun at his head." She was talking to John as he took a step away from the wall and pointed to Sherlock as he leaned up on his elbows. "But you," she looked to Sherlock as he slowly hauled himself to his feet, not taking his eyes away from her, "you're more hands on. You like the hand-to-hand stuff." She was speaking mockingly at them. "I am sick of standing here while you two fight out what you're too chicken or macho to say."

There was a silence.

"You really need to start announcing yourself," Sherlock muttered to John who burst out laughing.

Mary stared on in disbelief as neither man had appeared to listen to her. She looked to John and he stifled his laughter.

"So, are you going to tell me what's going on?" John finally said and the Watson's looked to Sherlock. He just stared back as if he didn't understand. "Yesterday, at the crime scene?" Sherlock knew he couldn't hold his ignorance forever so he turned and started picking up random pieces of paper that were recklessly left on various surfaces around the room. "You clearly didn't want me there and it wasn't because you had it all wrapped up. And you may not realise it but your violin can be heard from the street." He pointed to the window. "Sherlock." The change in his voice stopped Sherlock in his tracks. It was stern, it was irritated but it was sad, it was worried and, most of all, it was hurt. "The first time I came here you were playing the violin right up until I walked to that door." He pointed to the floor again, clearly referencing downstairs. Sherlock looked up at John. "You set it up so that I would walk in here and look to that light." He again pointed.

"Yes, and you did the same when you disappeared and came here."

John nodded. "Yes, you did it so you could put a gun to the back of my head."

"You can talk." Sherlock's voice had suddenly gotten deeper. Just as it did when he didn't yet know where something was going. Just as it did when he was both irritated and intrigued.

"You did it to prove a point and so did I. So it makes me wonder why, together with your actions at the crime scene today, you would go out of your way not to talk to me. That's not even to mention the way you've been acting towards Mary since the wedding."

Mary cleared her throat. "It's alright, J-"

"No it's not, it's not okay!" John took one right step forward and leaned angrily to Sherlock. "I don't know why you're acting the way you are, Sherlock, you clearly aren't telling anyone since Greg was as surprised as I was so whatever it is spit it out."

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"Right." John turned to look at Mary then back to his chair. He nodded to himself and walked to the couch. He started searching down the sides of the cushions and all around it.

"What are you doing?" Mary looked to John and back to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at John and then rolled his eyes and picked his violin again. "What, what is he doing?"

"There is only one reason he would be acting this way, one reason that neither me, Greg or Mycroft would know about."

Mary just stared back to Sherlock, who was now facing the fireplace as he stood beside his chair, still confused. "Which is?"

"He's looking for drugs," Sherlock stated. His voice wasn't as deep as it had been before but it was sad.

_Better for him to think that. He would rather think bad of me than consider any other reason. Well, then. Better that than the truth._

"Drugs?" Mary actually sounded shocked at the revelation.

Sherlock could barely hold his bow for the dull itch in his hand. As John moved around the room it became more and more demanding.

_Itch it. Itch it._

He tried to rub it with the bow a few times and continue playing. But couldn't get more than a couple of bars into the music before the need overcame him.

"Hold on." Mary looked to John as he crossed the room to the fireplace and started searching the bookcases. He turned as Mary spoke. "That isn't what's going on." She looked to Sherlock who stopped trying to play and glanced to her, that action alone merited a glance back to him from John. "You said 'neither me, Greg or Mycroft'."

John failed to see.

_Shit._

"Yeah, Greg was as surprised by his actions yesterday as I was?"

"But where's Mycroft?" She gestured her arms around. "If he was _back_ on drugs," she was still surprised by the revelation, or the fact that it had never been mentioned before, _can't tell which,_ "then Mycroft would be here, right?"

John stood up. "He would."

"That would imply emotion," Sherlock spat in Mary's direction. And immediately regretted it.

"Hey!" John took quick steps toward Sherlock, who lowered his instrument and bow while taking the same steps backwards until he was flush against the window.

_Should not have said it like that. It's her, she's having an effect._

Sherlock was still trying to grind the bow into the palm of his hand. If John had noticed, he was ignoring it.

"I've had enough. I have stood for your bullshit for too long, Sherlock. And I took it because… Well, in the beginning I took it because nothing mattered and then I took it because of what you did for me. But now?" He smiled, but everyone in the room knew it wasn't because he was happy. "Don't you dare speak to my wife that way. I was worried about you, I came here in concern and we came together so that you would know that even though I am married now that you will always be welcome in our life. Because, you know what, that's what adults do." Sherlock looked down guiltily as John took one step backwards.

"John, he didn't mean anything by it," Mary offered.

He turned to look at Mary and laughed as he turned back. "And she's still defending you." He shook his head and walked over to the door. He put his right arm out to usher her out of the door and she walked before turning to look as John spoke, "I'm one of the living now, Sherlock." And with that he left followed by Mary.

_'I was one of the dead among the living…'_

Sherlock exhaled heavily and he realised he had shallowed his breathing since John walked in. He heard mumbling and then the door downstairs close. He looked outside to see John put his phone to his ear but ducked out of sight as John looked up at the window.

"Ooh-hoo!" Mrs Hudson called as she walked in. "That was a short visit, wasn't it?" The tray she was carrying was making a racket and she tutted as she stopped in the middle of the floor and sorted it. She then took a step over to the table as Sherlock watched her. He brought his bow up towards the strings as she spoke. "I will never get used to just making one cup." She put it down and Sherlock stopped just before touching the strings. She shrugged and made for the kitchen.

Sherlock stood looking at the lonely cup and small teapot.

_Tea for one._

>><<

John sighed as he pulled the door closed behind them by the knocker. He pulled out his phone. "I've had enough."

"Who are you phoning?"

John looked up at the window before turning and taking Mary's hand as they walked back along the street. "Yeah hi, Greg? Listen, we need to talk."

>><<

"What about?"

_"Sherlock."_

Greg walked out of the bathroom rubbing his face and looked at Mycroft lying on his back in bed with his right arm behind his head and his eyes closed.

Greg could still taste the toothpaste as he spoke. Mycroft opened one eye to look at him.

"What about Sherlock, John?" Greg spoke pointedly but it wasn't for John's benefit. Mycroft sat up on his elbows.

_"I've just been to see him."_

"Oh yeah?" Greg moved closer to Mycroft as the man sat up properly and put his ear to the side of the phone.

_"Something's definitely up. I don't know, at first I thought he might be back on drugs but now I'm not so sure."_

"No mate, if he was back on drugs we would know, _Mycroft_ would know." Greg lifted his eyes to Mycroft clearly worried and anxious. Mycroft just looked back equally anxious.

 _"Well, that's what Mary said."_ The two men could hear the wind through the phone. _"I had a little look around the flat but he wasn't bothered by me doing that at all. In fact, he didn't even seem annoyed or insulted."_ There was a pause as if John was contemplating that fact. _"Anyway, I just don't know what to do anymore. It comes across as if there's something on his mind, something that even the cases won't ease."_

"Listen…" Greg hesitated open mouthed looking at Mycroft and the man shook his head with eyes that weren't demanding but pleading. "I'll talk to Mycroft and see what's going on, okay?"

 _"Yeah, alright…"_ There was clear hesitation on the other end of the line.

"John, what aren't you saying?"

 _"Well, I just-"_ He exhaled. _"He's acting funny, I mean, I know that he acts funny anyway, I mean, it's Sherlock."_ Greg nodded a head tilt. _"But this is different and if it's not drugs then it can't be good can it?"_

"No, I guess it can't be good." Greg put his hand on his neck to rub it and Mycroft let his head fall.

_"Alright, well… Let me know."_

"Will do mate." Greg clicked the phone and let both of his hands fall to the bed. He leaned forward and kissed Mycroft's forehead while using his mouth to push the man's head up. "Hey." Mycroft looked up at him. "We have to do something."

Mycroft sighed. "I know."

Greg turned to put his phone of the bedside table and felt Mycroft shuffle on the bed. When he turned back Mycroft was leaning against the head board with his knees bent, his chin resting in between them and clutching his feet.

"But what?" Greg just looked at him for a second when Mycroft turned his head to look at his partner. "Hmm?"

>><<

**[Sherlock's]**

It was dark now, the strange weather had meant that it was staying lighter for longer when it really shouldn't have but now? Now it was dark. Sherlock stood looking out of the window of 221B Baker Street onto the world. Well, not really. Onto Baker Street.

_London. It's a great cesspool into which all kinds of criminals, agents and drifters are irresistibly drained. And yet I cannot seem to find one to occupy me!_

He grunted in frustration as he turned and scattered three or four stack of files that were on his desk. They were useless now because all that he could think about was John.

_And that woman! Woman. That woman not The Woman. The Woman._

Sherlock spun on the spot to look at his armchair, where she had sat just yesterday.

_'I thought you might be bored.'_

_No, not bored._

_'And who have you got now?'_

Sherlock thought about Greg and Mycroft, probably in bed right now.

_Hopefully sleeping._

And then he thought about John and Mary asleep in bed.

_But John wouldn't stay asleep would he? No matter how far he's come there is still the odd night when he wakes up sweating and yelling. She wakes up too, maybe brings him a cloth or water. Maybe she just hugs him until he falls back to sleep. All the while knowing that she's lying to him about possibly the worst thing there is._

And then it happened again. Sherlock lost control of his mind and all that was in it. It wasn't just information about John and Mary that rushed at him – it was everything that could possibly get through.

_John Hamish Watson. 3.14159265359. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. James Moriarty. Irene Adler. Speedball. Seven percent. Redbeard. Inverness. Greg Lestrade. James Walton. Mandy Walton. Yoga man. Keith Roberts. Gym obsession. Left handed. Oban. Ear plugs. Two parts sugar._

The door along that corridor began to rattle.

 _Grow up, Sherlock! Yes, darling. It's my wedding! Jedburgh. I owe you a debt. Junior. The rush. He'd only tell you anyway. Bored of the pain. Ambleside. I thought you might be bored. Pints? Homophobe. What about what you did at your aunt's house when you were seventeen? Driffield._ _Memory loss and disorientation are included among the early symptoms of Alzheimer's disease. Just take it. Victor Tower Gardens. Ellesmore. The Watsons! Dreams are perfectly normal thing to have. Bretton. Dedicated to the memory of Violet Holmes, beloved wife and mother of three. Trowbridge. Mary Elizabeth Moriarty._

Sherlock screamed in frustration as he brought his hands up to his head. He kept his eyes closed as he furiously tried to sort through everything but in the end he just ran and ran until his legs collapsed under him and he lay in a ball on the floor of 221B breathing heavy and tears seeping down his cheeks.

After a period of time that he couldn't quantify he crawled across the floor to the coffee table and fumbled around for his phone, still with his eyes closed and his left hand on his head. Eventually he knocked it off the table where it hit his leg, he clawed it up and backed up down the side of the couch. He kicked the lamp towards the window where it fell and hit the floor, somehow not smashing on impact.

He quickly typed a text out, sent it and threw the phone across the floor in sheer disgust. He hadn't even quit the message and the light from the handset was the only source as it stopped just under Sherlock's armchair. Sherlock stared at it, still able to make out the message on the screen.

_'I'm bored – SH'_

And then the light went out.

>><<

**[Mycroft's]**

Mycroft couldn't sleep, he tossed, he turned and he sighed. Repeat until thoroughly pissed off.

_Achieved._

He couldn't stop thinking about Sherlock. The little boy who had been so intelligent and yet somehow managed to be a child.

_What happened? What did I do?_

Mycroft lay on his back with his right arm behind his head and his left hand lying on his stomach. He let out a heavy sigh.

"You alright?" Greg muttered, Mycroft couldn't help but smirk just a little.

_His voice when he's just woken up just drips with sex._

He sighed. "Not really."

Greg reached out and Mycroft parted the fingers on his left hand to let Greg's own curl around his hand. "Talk to me," he practically pleaded and it hurt Mycroft.

"I can't stop thinking about Sherlock and when he was a child." Mycroft exhaled through his nose. "He was always smart, innocently so. People think that you can't be a happy child and be extremely intelligent as well but he was. He had such an imagination, do you know, when he was eight he wanted to be a pirate?" Greg raised his eyebrows not wanting to interrupt. "We would run around this house having sword fights and… our mother bought us a boat-"

"A boat?!" the words slipped out before Greg could stop them but he knew that Mycroft wasn't talking about the model kind.

"Yes, it wasn't anything fancy but it was a rowing boat, we got a long pole and attached it to the middle. We spent hours making flags and things before we set out on the lake and became pirates. It was all his fantasies, I may have been smarter than him but I always envied his ability to just pluck ideas seemingly from nothing." Mycroft laughed to himself, a laugh that Greg rarely heard recently. "Once we set out and he complained, not seriously but as kids do, that I didn't play along because I didn't have any ideas. So, when we docked on the other side by the tree I started pretending that there were dragons all around us, in a pirate voice, you know…"

Greg laughed. "No…" Mycroft protested. "Go on, you've danced to Tina Turner you can do this!"

Mycroft looked at Greg, trying not to smile before sighing. "I said, Cap'n…" Greg started laughing. "Shut up!" Greg nudged his hand to get him to continue. "I said…" Greg stifled his laughter. "'Cap'n… listen!' and he was a bit surprised, so he was looking at me, waiting, I said, 'Don't you hear?' Then I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the tree, we were under the cover of the foliage and I put my finger to my lips and whispered 'Cap'n… I think… here be dragons.' His face lit up in a way I will never forget…" Mycroft laughed for a second and then his face turned sad. "Because it never has since."

Greg's laughter stopped and he moved his hand, still holding onto his partner's, a little around Mycroft's waist waiting.

Mycroft took a quick inhale. "I was eighteen so Father was already inducting me into the family business."

"Didn't you want to be?"

"In all truth that was never a relevant factor, I was the eldest son and therefore I would follow in his footsteps. Whether I liked it or not was not an issue. I was to become a businessman and had no time for games according to him. If it had been up to me I would have ran around slaying those dragons until he didn't want to any more. But my father's word was the law, not even my mother argued with him."

"Did that make you mad?" Greg furrowed his brow a little.

"In a way I suppose but only because I could never understand why and I didn't like not understanding. She taught Sherlock the same as my father taught me – how to live with your own head. It's torture, you know, everyone expresses confusion, envy or wonder and while it is useful, just sometimes… It's hell."

Greg couldn't reassure Mycroft that he knew or understood because he didn't, the only person who did was Sherlock. And maybe, in a different way, John.

"My father taught me that family were to be had and not cherished. Maybe that wasn't his intention but that's what he imprinted on me. When he died…" Mycroft stopped for a second to steel himself.

"Hey…" Greg sat himself up, cross legged beside him. "I know what you're saying but if ever you want to let emotions show, even for just a second, you can with me." Mycroft looked to Greg. "Because everyone thinks that because the two of you remain stone faced that you don't feel the emotions others expect, I know better than anyone that they are right there below the surface." He leaned over and rubbed Mycroft's face with his left hand. "But I won't be offended or hurt if you don't want to either… As long as you love me."

Mycroft brought his right hand up to hold Greg's to his face. "As long as you don't let go."

"Never." Greg climbed over Mycroft and, after a quick kiss, settled on his chest with most of his weight still on Mycroft's left.

"After he died I wasn't sure how to feel any more, I had always kept that infamous stone face because I had to, it was that simple. And then he was gone and I was flooded with different feelings," Greg looked up at Mycroft as he spoke, "I felt sad, heartbroken, isolated but above all I felt guilty because I felt relieved. I felt like I could relax into my emotions; I could cry, I could laugh, I could be offended, I could fall in love," He ran his right hand through Greg's hair and the man hummed, "and I could hurt." There was a hitch in his breathing.

"What hurt you?" Greg raised himself up on his hands to look at Mycroft properly.

"Well, my father had just died but after that… Sherlock had already accepted that I would never be the brother he wanted. He had already shut me out so when I turned to him he turned away. It was then that I realised just what I had done to him and every day I think about it."

"Mycroft…"

"Don't." Mycroft lifted his right hand, upset, before letting it come to rest on Greg's lower arm. "Don't tell me that it wasn't my fault or that Sherlock is his own person because you didn't see his face every time that I said I couldn't play or when my father berated him for crying. A ten year old boy skins his knee and isn't allowed comfort? And I just stood there, watching as he cried despite my father's screams to stop."

Mycroft was crying now, he couldn't help it and, as much as it hurt to watch, Greg didn't want to stop it, especially given what he was saying. Greg would never do to Mycroft what his father had.

"You didn't see him, at first he would play alone a little miffed but after a while he just stopped playing. My mother got him a dog to make up for it because she didn't want him to be alone and he would take the dog out on the boat, sometimes he would paddle alongside the boat and they would run and he would bark but…" He bit his top lip. "Redbeard died and so did Sherlock, it was like it was confirmation for him, My father screamed at him for caring and dragged me off to a meeting that went on until late, when I got up the next morning I went outside for a cigarette and there he was, in the middle of the lake in the boat. Just sitting."

"Just… sitting?" Greg raised his eyebrows.

Mycroft nodded. "Just sitting. He wasn't paddling, he wasn't thinking, he wasn't bored, he wasn't doing anything. He was just staring off into the distance as if he was empty." Mycroft used his index finger to wipe away a tear. "And I did that." Greg exhaled through his nose knowing that nothing he said would make anything better. "My father was right, 'Caring is not an advantage."

He said it but Greg knew different and he hugged Mycroft as he silently sobbed all the while fighting with himself about whether he should be doing so.

>><<

**[Sherlock's]**

Sherlock let his head fall backwards and he closed his eyes. After a few seconds he forced himself to inhale sharply and open them again. He looked down again, snapped the quick-release tourniquet off of his left upper arm and grabbed the piece of cotton wool before putting in on the crease in his elbow. He pushed it down and then bent his arm upwards to hold it there then he scooped the needle and put it in a small yellow plastic bucket. The bucket was just like the ones health professionals use and it should do, if the words 'TOX DEPT' scrawled on the side in black marker were anything to go by. Those and the 'St Barts Morgue' sticker on the bottom.

_Molly always pretended that she didn't notice these things disappearing but she knew, she always knew._

He walked down the hall with the bucket in his right hand, tourniquet in his left which was still bent upwards and pushed his bedroom door open with his elbow. The room was darker than the rest of the house, the blind of the bedroom let very little of what light there was left outside in the room, the light that did enter was from around the edge of it. When he was inside he opened his wardrobe and stuffed the bucket down on the space that usually housed his shoes. Next to it, barely visible, was a hospital pack of needles, wipes, plasters and a couple more tourniquets where he dumped the one he had just used. Incidentally, all of the stuff in the bottom of Sherlock's wardrobe had the same sticker and scrawled marker on them. He released the cotton wool ball and popped it in the bin before finding a small round plaster, rubbing that over the small puncture wound and placing its wrapper in the bucket also. When he closed the door he exhaled a little, keeping his left hand on it and closed his eyes.

_'I need you to promise me something, Sherlock.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed._

_'No,' Mycroft stood at the end of Sherlock's hospital bed in his suit with Greg standing beside him. The men mere acquaintances who had not shared more than a conversation and hot beverage and perhaps stood together smoking a cigarette or two, 'I need you to listen, Sherlock.'_

_There was a pause as Sherlock looked at his brother's strained jaw. Only Sherlock knew he was hiding some kind of emotion. Irritation most probably although Sherlock may forgive himself for first thinking worry or hurt if the slight darkening around his eyes was to be trusted. Which, of course, it wasn't._

_Sherlock moved his head forward slightly. 'I'm listening.'_

_'Inspector Lestrade is taking a big risk asking you to help him on his cases, it's not even legal, it would be completely unofficial but he's taking a chance on his faith in your abilities.' He waited._

_Sherlock looked to Lestrade and then back to his brother. 'Agreed.'_

_'With that in mind there is no way he can consult you like this if you continue to use drugs.' Sherlock made to speak but Mycroft waved his hand. 'That is between the two of you, your choices are your own Sherlock but I want you to consider this right now before you speak words which have no substance.'_

_He paused again and made sure Sherlock had stopped trying to interrupt._

_'I know that I haven't been there for you.' Greg shifted on his feet and Sherlock looked to him, for no reason other than to avoid looking at his brother. 'I am truly sorry for that.' Sherlock snapped his gaze back to him. 'But, whatever has happened I will promise you right now that whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I vow that I will always be there, for you. Whether you want me to be or not.'_

_There was a silence as Sherlock took in his brother's words. They seemed to be genuine but Sherlock could not understand how or why that would be the case. Mycroft did not do emotion. Then he thought back to when he had opened his eyes again properly a few days ago to see his older brother a mess as he slept awkwardly on that plastic chair._

_'Now, I will ask you three things. Firstly, I want you to promise me that you will never touch drugs again for as long as you are physically and mentally capable of making that choice. Secondly, that you will come to me when you can no longer fulfil this promise.' He then hesitated as if dreading his own words._

_Greg looked at the elder Holmes and wondered how on earth he was appearing so calm and collected when it was obvious to the inspector that he was anything but underneath._

_'Lastly… I want you to only promise me those things if you genuinely intend to see them through. If you told me right now that you could not keep those promises or, indeed, had no intentions of doing so then it would be… Kinder on me.'_

_Sherlock was mentally dumbfounded. Kinder? That would imply emotion._

_'So, as my third and final ask I request that you show your brother the kindness and love I deprived you of and just… tell me the truth.'_

Back in his bedroom Sherlock's seven percent solution of cocaine had begun to kick in and he pulled his top off when the sweat began to itch his skin. He let it fall to the floor and walked to his bed, as he threw himself down onto it he could see the bit that killed him the most and heard his own voice echo as he bounced to an eventual halt on the mattress.

_'I promise.'_


	17. Chapter 17

**[Sherlock's]**

Bored – SH

He finished sending the text and looked up to the window as he stood by a tree across the road from number forty-four Eaton Square.

_No, don't. Don't think about the last time you stood beside a tree like this. Stop. Stop. Stop!_

He scrunched his eyes closed and struggled to force the memory back into the room.

"Junior." His eyes shot open to see her standing on her doorstep. She turned and walked inside leaving the door open. He took a quick glance around, the collar of his coat rubbing against his jaw, and crossed the road before closing the door behind him.

He looked around the hallway as he recognised the recently familiar deductions that appeared to him.

"You need to slow down, Junior." She led him into the sitting room, he followed her but he began pacing the patch of floor between the ornamental fireplace and the table in front of the couch.

"Oh, I would really rather not be lectured by the neighbourhood drug dealer," he snipped.

There was a moment of silence before Irene's assistant Kate walked into the room and handed her boss a small packet. She smiled politely and left when Irene nodded to her, gesturing that everything was fine.

Sherlock put his hand out but Irene just looked at him. He exhaled irritated and rummaged around in his pocket before producing the money. She looked from the money back to his face.

"What's the problem?" he asked, a little irked that this was taking so long but mostly confused. He had never seen her hesitate before.

"Look." She directed her eyes to her left before looking back to him. "Really look."

He turned to the mirror above the fireplace.

 _W_ _hat?_

"It's my face?" He looked back to her. "What's so interesting about my face all of a sudden?"

"I said really look." She hadn't moved at all.

He turned back to the mirror and she moved behind him to look as well. He was looking in the mirror but his eyes were focused on what she had in her hand.

_Peace in a packet. If only for a little while._

She tucked it in her right closed palm and put her hand behind her back. He rolled his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror.

_The quicker I get this over with the quicker she will hand it over._

She moved her hand to his hair, pulling one curl out straight between her thumb and index finger. "Hair is brittle, dry and dirty." She let it go and traced her index finger down his temple. "Skin is pale, oily and irritated." She continued down the side of his face as she passed each feature. "Eyes are blood-shot, red and puffy. Mouth is dry and cracked. So much so that there's dried blood here." She lifted her finger from his skin and pointed to a dot just off of the middle of the bottom of his lip. She pulled his collar down at the side. "Collar bone protruding more than usual, I don't have to see underneath your coat to know the rest of you won't be any different." She looked down the front of him in the mirror. "Clothes are a few days old and creased."

"So?" Sherlock looked at her in the mirror before he turned to look her in the eye.

"Sherlock, you spend your life looking outwards and seeing the things that no one else does and yet you can't even see the obvious etched on your own face."

"You haven't called me Sherlock since I was seventeen?" It was a question but Irene didn't answer it.

"You've only been using again for a week and look at you." She looked him up and down.

_She looks shocked. Why?_

Sherlock was done playing around. He had been holding the money in his right hand this whole time and he wiggled his hand and spoke with venom, "I have not got the patience or the time to stand around while you suddenly question your life choices."

She sighed and took the money in her left hand before putting the packet in his hand but as she did so she grabbed his hand tight. Both of their hands now clasping the thing that had brought them together.

It was a new feeling for Sherlock, he knew that she liked to flirt with danger and got off on the control she had over people. She considered herself a drug by proxy. But everything since he had walked in the door was completely different to usual; there had been no lingering looks, no suggestion in her words, desire wasn't dripping from her every syllable, her touch wasn't electric with what could be and her grasp wasn't full of want.

_It was genuine worry. How very touching(!)_

"You are going to kill yourself." She widened her eyes.

_Not a question. A statement._

"And wouldn't that be a shame(!)" He widened his eyes back in a sarcastic manner and walked out as he pulled away from her.

She turned her head to watch him leave and sighed.

He walked outside, slamming the door behind him, shoved the packet in his pocket and, with a tut, fixed his collar. He then took off back to Baker Street having got what he came for.

>><<

**[Mycroft's]**

_"And he is just ignoring you?"_

"Yes. I honestly don't know what to do, Gregory. I don't know what's going on in his head and then there's John…" He exhaled.

_"I know, I've already had him on the phone this morning about Sherlock. I honestly had to stop myself just screaming it down the phone. Oh, hold on a second, babe."_

Mycroft heard whispering on the other end of the phone and then rustling.

Greg initially began speaking to Mycroft again but was interrupted, _"Sorry about that, Sally was just handing me some… What?"_ Mycroft furrowed his brows ever so slightly as Greg spoke to someone in his office. There was a sigh on the phone before Greg spoke back into it,  _"Sally says hi."_

Mycroft smiled, as much as everything that was going on of late weighed him down, it was a relief to know that their relationship was not another problem. "Tell her hello," he said.

Greg spoke away from the handset again,  _"He says hi back now can you bugger off, trying to have phone sex here."_ Sally and Greg laughed. _"Sorry about that."_ Greg's voice was louder again as the phone was properly back to his ear.

"I didn't realise that's what we were doing," Mycroft said with a smirk.

 _"Oh… You weren't meant to hear that."_ Greg laughed down the end. Even over the phone Mycroft knew it was his embarrassed laugh and that he was probably scratching behind his ear right now. Mycroft found the whole gesture unbelievably cute.

"What a shame," Mycroft teased, thankful for the change in conversation which had been all about his brother and the secret for the past week.

_"Oh, really? Well, I'm sure I can find ten minutes."_

"Is that a fact?" Mycroft leaned back in his chair and put the pen he had been playing with between his teeth.

_"You know, we never did get finished this morning?"_

"And whose fault is that?" Mycroft blushed at the memory of this morning's shower.

_"Yours."_

"Excuse me?" Mycroft couldn't help but smile and let out a little laugh. "You are the one that I have to practically drag out the shower after nearly an hour. Why _do_ you like such long showers?"

_"I don't."_

"So, why did we end up running around like headless chickens this morning resulting in both of us nearly turning up late for work?"

 _"It's not the showers I like, it's who's in them with me."_ Mycroft bit his bottom lip as he smiled ridiculously. Then there was a scuffle on the other end and Greg laughing his head off.

"What?" Mycroft laughed too. The mere suggestion of a laugh in Greg's voice made Mycroft feel fifteen again.

 _O_ _r what normal fifteen year old boys are supposed to feel in their hearts and stomachs instead of fear, suppression and pain._

 _"I had my back to-"_ He kept laughing.

Sally could be heard on the phone insisting that whatever it was wasn't funny at all.

_"I had my back to the door and Sally just came in and heard that-"_

There was a bang as Sally shut Greg's office door. _"_

_Oh god, you should have seen her face."_

"She is going to think you were serious about that phone sex." Mycroft was still smiling at the sound of Greg's laughter as he remembered the man laughing when they were rolling around in bed this morning.

Greg cleared his throat and pushed the laughter away. _"I was extremely serious, Mr Holmes."_

Mycroft suddenly disappeared into a memory that was so distant and yet so close. A memory he was reminded of every day but one that he refused to entertain.

_'This is extremely serious, Mr Holmes. Your brother is very ill.'_

_'I was able to reach that conclusion for myself, he did just over dose on heroin and cocaine, doctor.'_

_'Yes, I know that you realise that, Sir. The thing is, for a healthy person this would be a very critical situation but your brother is not in the best of shapes. He's malnourished, sleep deprived – I get the impression that he hasn't been taking care of himself for a long time. Was there no one that could have spotted this?'_

_Mycroft paused. 'No. When I left for university he was fine however we are orphans so he was alone in the house.'_

_'What about at his job or a relationship?'_

_Mycroft paused again before looking in the window at the practically lifeless body lying in bed, more machine than flesh. '_ _No, I am all that he has.'_

_"Mycroft, you still there?"_

Mycroft sat forward in his seat and put the pen back on his desk. "Yes, sorry. I just…" He sighed, tucked the phone between his left ear and shoulder before wringing his hands together. "I have a bad feeling about this."

_"Sherlock? Yeah, so do I."_

Suspecting that he was facing his worst fear yet again was bad enough but knowing that Greg suspected it too cut Mycroft in two. He closed his eyes and dug his nails in as he tightened his right grasp on his other hand.

There was a knock at the door and the couple said a rushed goodbye having already overrun both of their breaks.

Mycroft sighed as he hung up the phone. "Yes." The door opened and Andrea stood there, she suddenly had Mycroft's attention. "The text?"

She entered and closed the door behind her. "Texts, Sir." She walked forward and put the file she was holding on Mycroft's desk. "There have been multiple texts from that source since the date you specified."

_The skip code._

"And?" He looked to her with one hand on the file.

"Nothing yet on the source, it is still encrypted and bounced around on hundreds of different servers."

Mycroft opened the file as he raised his eyebrows. "No mean feat." Then his heart stopped. He read the texts and knew immediately who they were.

_Junior! How did I miss that? I saw what I wanted to see. Emotions!_

"For goodness sake!" He threw himself back in the chair with his arms above his head and Andrea seemed genuinely startled. He looked to her. "It's her."

"Sir?"

"Her!" He widened his eyes and she seemed to realise.

"I believe we have found the reason for such a sophisticated defence system on the sender's identity. That woman has handfuls of agents, politicians, police commissioners and bank CEOs in her pocket to pull this off. Not to mention a certain agency director that shall remain nameless."

Andrea nodded understanding that the director of the American Navy should not be named, even in her boss's own office walls.

"That's not all, Sir." Mycroft looked up at her. She leaned forward and turned a page. Mycroft sat forward to look. "There have been replies."

"Replies?" He looked to where she pointed.

"I don't know if they mean anything to you but…" She trailed off as he read them all.

_I'm bored – SH_

_Bored – SH_

_Bored! – SH_

_I'm bored – SH_

_Bored – SH_

_Double bored – SH_

The texts got more and more frequent and there were twenty-two in a week. Four in one day.

Mycroft put his head in his hands. There was silence in the office for a good few minutes. Then his phone vibrated and he looked to it.

_'Gregory'_

Mycroft put his hand out as Andrea turned to leave to stop her. She hovered reluctantly in front of her boss's desk as he answered a phone call to his partner.

"Greg?"

 _"Hey, sorry I know you're busy but… I just went round, blues on, to Sherlock's to offer him a case."_ Mycroft could hear the noises of the street on the other end of the phone and concluded that he must be outside Baker Street or at the crime scene.

"And what did he say?"

 _"Well, he wasn't there at first and when he came back he was completely uninterested."_ Mycroft closed his eyes as he paused rubbing his head.

_Bugger._

_"I have a serial, triple murder with two possible SETS of suspects and two possible SETS of potential victims and he didn't even glance at me. He walked into his flat, into his room, shut the door and didn't come out. I barely even got the summary out before he shut the door in my face. Mycroft, I think-"_

Mycroft cut him off, "He is."

There was a pause. _"How do you know?"_

Mycroft slapped the file shut in front of him and nodded to Andrea who turned to leave without it when her phone rang. As the door shut he slumped back into his chair. "I have proof, Sherlock is using again."

>><<

**[Molly's]**

Molly took a breath before knocking the door, she looked around her and then glanced up to the window when Mrs Hudson answered.

"Hello, love!" She stepped aside to let her in. When Molly had walked into the little hallway she waited for Mrs Hudson to close the door and walk to her. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks. How are you?" Molly blinked a look to the staircase.

"Oh, you know. Looking for Sherlock?" Molly nodded. "I'm not sure he's in, Molly, love. I haven't heard a peep for days and he's never there when I go up."

"Can I check?"

"Of course! I'll go make some tea." She put her hand on Molly's arm and the nervous woman nodded again. "Maybe you can convince him to eat something, whatever I leave for him up there just sits untouched. At least when John was here he reminded him to eat." She tutted and disappeared into her flat, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Molly's smile dropped and she lifted her head properly now. She took the stairs one at a time and slowly, making sure to avoid the one that creaked. When she reached the top she looked through the small opening of the door into the sitting room. She could just see the couch but it was empty, she slowly pushed it open to reveal the lamp, window, table, other window, Sherlock's armchair, fireplace and John's armchair. There was still nothing. The flat was freezing, she could feel that even though she was bundled up against the cold outside. When she turned to look in the kitchen she saw a figure standing on top of the bunker looking in the boxes on top of the cupboards on the wall. The figure was only wearing blue boxers and… _is he wearing latex gloves?_

Suddenly Sherlock stopped what he was doing and lifted his head. After a second he turned to look at Molly letting his right arm fall to his side. _Yes, he's wearing gloves._ As soon as he saw her he turned back to what he was looking for without saying a word.

"Hello," Molly offered, trying to act nonchalant about seeing Sherlock so bare, but still got nothing. "Are you doing an experiment?" She couldn't help but notice the bones that were so prominent on his back. They might not seem so bad to anyone else but, while Sherlock was lean anyway and she had never seen his bare body before, Molly knew that this was not how Sherlock had always looked. And it was not how Sherlock had looked a week or so ago.

He leaned and put his right hand on the counter and jumped down holding a small rectangular box. Its flap was open and Molly could just read 'ice bags' on the side. He walked to the sink and she stood on the opposite side of the table, still holding onto the strap of her shoulder bag.

"Feeling the heat, are we?" She let out a small laugh in an attempt to get some kind of reaction from him.

He ripped a blue plastic bag from the roll in the box and dumped the box on the side. When he held the bag under the water Molly realised what he was doing – the bag was divided into sections, all you had to do was fill it with water, put it in the freezer for a few hours and you would have a bag of ice cubes. He used his teeth to tie it and walked to the freezer, he took one already frozen bag out and put this new one in its place. When he was finished he took the bag, a cloth and a glass bowl that had been on the side with a little water in it into the sitting room. He dumped it on the table, sitting beside it, and emptied the cubes into the water. Molly walked back into the sitting room behind him and watched.

"Mrs Hudson says you haven't been eating?" Molly began to wonder if the woman had forgotten about that cup of tea and hoped she wouldn't remember.

_I know the signs._

Sherlock still didn't answer her. He leaned backwards and twisted his body to reach his left hand behind him to the side of the couch. Molly almost winced at the sight of Sherlock's bones jutting out around his ribcage, again maybe not bad enough for anyone else to notice but this was Molly, and Molly knew the side effects when she saw them.

_He's malnourished._

He sat back up holding the yellow bucket which had a small wrap in the tray attached. He opened it to reveal a needle, three full vials, a quick release tourniquet, disinfectant wipes and some plasters. She took a step forward in disbelief, she wanted to snatch those things away from him but she was in shock. From the fact that he was acting as if she wasn't there, more than usual, and from what she was witnessing. Not just witnessing the behaviour but also how blatant it was.

_The door isn't locked, Mrs Hudson is home and I'm standing right here!_

He used his teeth to pull the tourniquet around his left arm and the band became slightly pink as the elastic strained the deep red fabric. He grabbed a piece of cotton wool and a plaster and transferred them to his left hand before he scooped up the needle and pierced the lid of the container, filling the syringe.

"Sherlock-" Molly put her hand out but withdrew it to her mouth when she couldn't figure out what to do. She was looking between the jar and his arms, they were covered in tracks.

He didn't even flinch, as if he didn't hear her, he hit his arm a few times to bring the vein up and then, without hesitation or caution, crashed the needle into his arm and almost immediately pressed the plunger, rushing the liquid into his body. Molly gasped and grabbed the door in her right hand as he bared his teeth.

_Animal instinct._

He took a deep breath before releasing the tourniquet, pulling the needle out which he then laid carefully on the table, put the cotton wool over the wound and then bent his elbow, bringing his hand up to his shoulder. He then disposed of the needle, cotton wool and rubbish after he had put the plaster on, replaced the wrap in the tray and stood to put the box back down the side of the couch as if nothing had happened.

As he made to walk past Molly with the bowl of water, ice and the cloth she grabbed his arm hard enough to stop him in his tracks. He stopped but did not look at her.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Cocaine." He turned and looked into her eyes. "Obviously." There was a venom that she had never seen before. Nothing like the bitter displeasure he shot at the various people who bored, annoyed or irritated him on a daily bases and nothing like the man who had asked her for a dance at John's wedding, much to Tom's dislike.

_There was an evil coursing through his veins._

"You need to stop, you could have come to me and I would have-"

He cut her off, "You would have what?" She couldn't look away from his eyes.

_They were like burning coal – full of black heat._

"Enlighten me, Miss Hooper."

_Miss Hooper?_

"Just what would you have done?"

"I could have helped, I could have been there for you?"

"Then why do you say that like it's a request? We both know what you think of me… _feel_ for me," she let go of his arm and looked down a little embarrassed, "so excuse me if I do not trust your judgement."

She looked back up. There was something else in his eyes now. "Why would that mean my judgement was not trustworthy?"

He let out a little laugh, it was snide but unsurprised – as if he expected her to say that. "Why would you want to be there for me? You have no idea what I'm dealing with."

She put her hand into the bowl, picked up the cloth and rang it out as he just watched her. She took the bowl from him and he let her. "I don't have to know, I want to know but I don't have to. I can just be there." She walked away from him, down the hall to his room. He hesitated before following her knowing that when she spoke like that there was no changing her mind and that either way he didn't care.

He climbed onto his bed, the covers that usually lay on top of it now lay in a pile in the corner of the room. She slipped off her shoes, put the bowl on the bedside table and kneeled onto the side of bed, nearest the door, beside him. He looked at her as she pressed the cloth to his forehead without saying anything. He closed his eyes when the cold hit him, it lingered for just a second before the cloth became warm again. She dabbed his forehead three times before soaking, rinsing the cloth and placing it on his cheeks and chin. When she turned to rinse it out again Sherlock opened his eyes to look at her. She made no attempt to speak and didn't even look like she was preparing to do so. She moved to his neck and then across his shoulder and upper chest before she rang it out again. This time she put the cloth on his hair line and squeezed it just a little, Sherlock could feel a few droplets run along his scalp and hair – and it was heaven. She continued this routine a couple of times and Sherlock could feel his temperature gradually starting to decrease.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock muttered and opened his eyes again to look at her.

"For what?" She didn't look directly at him, instead she was concentrating on what she was doing.

"In the hospital when I came to see you about John for the first time I was… as John would put it… an insensitive arsehole." She smiled a little knowing that it was exactly how John would put it. "I was so focused on helping him that I completely ignored your pain."

"It's not a problem, it's not something you could have fixed. I didn't want you to know about it anyway."

"But I did. And anyway… I didn't have to know, I could have just been there."

She paused and looked at him. "I took some painkillers and I was fine."

His face contorted into confusion. "Painkillers? For what?"

She turned back to the bowl and dunked the cloth in the water. "For my hip. When I pushed John out of the way the bus clipped my hip, I thought that's what you meant?"

Sherlock pushed himself to sit up. "No, are you okay?" He looked at her hip and tried to lift her t-shirt up at the right side. "Which side?" He tried to remember that day, if she had flinched or limped but he couldn't think properly.

She pushed his hand away. "It's been two years. I'm fine, it was just bruised and it's not now." He nodded and let himself lie back closing his eyes as she dabbed his chest again. After a moment she looked to his face. "If you didn't know about that then what were you talking about?"

He opened his eyes to look at her. "When I said you should be happy about saving his life you said, 'John and I were at medical school together, he was a little bit older and more confident and I was pretty much the same as I am now actually. Shy, no confidence and in a pretty bad place.'" Molly blinked a little quicker and swallowed, it was almost imperceptible, but not to Sherlock _._ "I'm sorry, I was listening to you and yet somehow I never really heard what you said."

"It's alright." She pressed her lips together in a smile, but it wasn't a smile at all.

"It's not. Out of everyone you are the only one who keeps coming back, I say and do such horrible things and worst off all I say and do them to you."

"You don't mean it."

He took the cloth from her. "But I do!" She put her hands back in her lap and her smile fell. "I get so angry and irritated that I say these things to people and I do mean them. These normal people, these brilliant, resilient people who just happen to be what I can never be: normal. I see all of the things that no one else does and I know it means I'm different and I thought it made me special but…" He sighed.

"But what?" He looked to her. "Tell me." She took the cloth back.

He paused and watched as she rinsed it out again. "Recently I've wished that I didn't see all of that; I didn't know when someone was lying about murder, if Mrs Hudson has had her evening soother yet, if Mycroft is back on his diet, if John has got a date or if Greg has had sex that morning, although I don't think I'll ever stop wishing I could see that now." He widened his eyes and looked to Molly and then they both laughed.

"Well, John's married now so you won't be seeing his dating schedule anymore."

Sherlock tried to swallow down the hole that just ripped in his chest. He cleared his throat and croaked. "Or if you have broken off your engagement." He looked down at her left hand, holding the cloth to his chest. It was bare. "I'm sorry, Molly."

"It's fine."

"It's not because out of everyone, you are the one who deserves happiness the most."

"What makes you say that?" She tried to act unfazed by his words. But they did affect her even if she didn't believe them.

"Because you never do anything to anyone, not even a cross word and yet happiness always seems to evade you. You go to college and university to try and realise your potential and dreams and the people make your life miserable, not to mention what that…" Sherlock looked away in anger as he tried to control himself, "… that _animal_ almost did to you."

She looked at Sherlock, if she was uncomfortable by the mention of it then it was hidden behind her surprise at his reaction. "I had John to protect me."

Sherlock ignored that. "And then you have the misfortune of being in my company on almost a daily bases. I am rude, obnoxious, ignorant, and I exploit your feelings for me for my own ends." He let out a grunt of frustration.

"It's okay, Sherlock." She could sense him beginning to get angry and she wasn't sure if this was Sherlock or the drugs, or both.

"It's not. I use you on a daily bases and I don't even think twice about it, I mean you helped me fake my death and I didn't even have to convince you to. It was just 'tell me what you need' and it was done. Who do I think I am?"

He started to sit up and she put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. He was boiling hot. "Sherlock, sit back. You are still too hot." She put the cloth in the bucket but all of the ice had melted already.

"I just sat out there and took cocaine in front of you and here you are, 'sit back, Sherlock, you're too hot', I don't understand."

"There's nothing to understand, I'm your friend. John would do the same." Sherlock paused and looked at her."What?" He suddenly didn't know if he was upset or angry and the confusion made him itch inside. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

He rolled onto his left and she tried to get him to lie still as he rolled back, pulled his knees up on the bed and grabbed her arm as if he were in pain. She looked over his body but he wasn't indicating a specific area of hurt.

"Sherlock, talk to me."

He wouldn't stop writhing on the bed, his face contorted between anger and ready to cry. He made to sit up again and she grabbed his face with her right hand and he grabbed her right arm with his left.

"Sherlock, look at me." He did so. "What. Is. Wrong."

He stopped and his mouth feel open as he let out a held breath. "I won't be able to save him this time."

"Who?" When he let his head fall she slide her hand down to his chin and tipped his head back up to look at her. "Who?"

"John."

Her mouth fell limp as she realised what this had all been about. He slowly let his head lean into her shoulder and letting go of his chin she wrapped her arm under his jaw line and held the back of his head to her. He didn't cry and he didn't scream – he just breathed as she held him. Deliberately and deeply.


	18. Chapter 18

**[Molly's]**

Molly pulled the door of 221 Baker Street closed, she didn't want to leave him but she did have to go; she had work in 2 hours. The early morning air hit her hard. She had been in Sherlock's flat all night, she was there to monitor his reactions, his come-down and the aftermath. During his reactions she tried to wrestle with him when he was convinced he could handle more cocaine and he pushed her away, slamming her against the wall. But she fought back and got it away from him, he would never intentionally hurt her and that's why she won. She watched him cling to the toilet bowl and scream as it flushed away. When he was coming down she locked him in the flat with her – he begged and pleaded with her for more drugs and then begged and pleaded for his phone back when he tried to call his dealer. After a while he started to shiver and shake and Molly realised that he must have not been sober of the drug for a long period of time since he had taken it up again. He was going through withdrawals because he wouldn't fight with her for access to his addiction. Eventually, she got him to agree to some soup, not too much since his body wasn't used to eating very much of late, which she fed to him and then soothed him until he fell asleep.

But as she checked her watch and looked in the direction of the hospital she was supposed to be starting work in at ten she knew that, while she couldn't watch him forever, he was probably in the process of acquiring more drugs as she left the flat. She looked up and saw movement in the window.

_He was watching me leave._

She decided to walk towards her flat, which she did without looking back and turned the corner. When she had done that she crossed the road, waiting a few moments and walked in the other direction on the other side. She took out her phone and looked around as she crossed over.

_He was waiting to see which way I'd turn after leaving. But I can't just going home after being there with him through all of that last night._

"Hello, Charles?"

_"Yes?"_

"Hey, it's Molly."

_"Oh, hello love. I didn't recognise your voice, must be because I can barely hear you, are you outside?"_

"Yeah, I'm just not sure I can come in today."

_"Oh, is everything alright?"_

"I think so, I've been feeling a bit sick and since there's the presentations and meetings today, not to mention the student tours and everything I don't think I should chance coming in but I don't want to leave you in the lurch."

 _"No, don't you worry about a thing! The first lecture was rescheduled for tomorrow and we have Dr Smith, you know him,"_ Molly muttered a positive reply, _"you've worked a few shifts together, how he manages to get them to allow you to randomly pitch in in A &E I'll never know."_

She smiled. "I don't know either but he's always asking about my cousin Owen, says he knows him through some friends or something."

 _"Oh, maybe more than friends!"_ Molly tutted and shook her head smiling. _"Well, anyway love, don't worry it's not that we don't need you but we don't need your germs."_ They laughed. _"You taking stuff for it? Be in next week for your shifts?"_

"Oh yeah, don't worry." She looked along the road to the surgery in the distance. "I'm going to see a doctor right now."

>><<

"I'm sorry, we're not actually open ye- Molly?" Mary turned from the reception desk to see whoever was walking in but recognised Molly, who was flustered and a little upset. "What's wrong?"

"I need to see John, I'm sorry for barging in but it's important." At this point one of the doors opened, it had a sign on it that read 'Dr. J. H. Watson', and John walked out.

"Molly? I thought I heard your voice." He saw her take a deep breath and his facial expression changed from confused to worried and Mary looked back to Molly when she noticed. "What's wrong?"

"It's – I've –" She didn't know where to start.

Mary took her arm. "Alright." She ushered her to one of the waiting room chairs and John got a cup of water from the cooler to give to her. "Breathe." Molly took a deep breath not taking her eyes off of Mary until John gave her the water. "Take a drink, calm down and then tell us what's wrong." Mary balanced on bended knees with her left hand holding the chair just at the side of Molly to hold herself up while John had balanced the same way before letting his right knee drop to the floor just to be safe.

Molly took a long breath and then a sip, not trusting herself to drink more than that.

Mary tried again. "Are you okay?"

Molly nodded a little embarrassed. "I just don't know where to start. I only went round to check in and make sure everything was okay. I never imagined that I'd witness that and then everything after just happened and I just had to sort of go with it and I tried my hardest to hold it together. We got through it, we did, it was hard but we did. But I can't be there forever, I have work and I should be there in an hour but I called in sick because I know this is bad and huge and I didn't-"

She was panicking and John put his hand out to grasp hers. "Just calm down. What is bad? You need to breathe and tell us before we can help."

She looked to John and automatically held her breath. Mary and John looked at each other. "I'm scared. I know I always come to you John and I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't lean on you any more," she turned to Mary, "I just can't not tell him and I'm sorry but I-"

Mary cut her off. "Breathe." Molly did so. "You are not leaning on him, you are our friend and you can come to us whenever you need to. Okay?" Molly looked to John who smiled reassuringly and she looked back to Mary. "Stop freaking out, if you tell us we can help."

Molly thought about it. She realised she had no other choice and downed her water as if it were whiskey before closing her eyes for a second. John and Mary shared a look again. "It's Sherlock." John shot back to looking at Molly who looked up at him, eyes open again, cautiously and with overflowing apology. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. John didn't say anything, he just waited, breathing shallow, on the words he had been dreading for weeks. "He's back on drugs."

Mary closed her eyes. John rolled back on his heels and sighed. However much he expected them he was far from prepared.

>><<

Greg sat at his desk looking at various bits of paper sprawled around it. Everything else that was usually piled on and around his desk in organised chaos was put away in favour of what he was now looking at. He looked up slowly as someone entered his office.

"We need to talk."

"John? What are you doing here? What's wrong?" Greg sat up properly very aware of the files on his desk but trying not to draw attention to them.

"I had Molly around the surgery half an hour ago." He took a breath. "Sherlock's back to injecting cocaine."

"Oh, really?" Lestrade stood up and looked at his desk as he started gathering the papers up. "That's uh, that's awful. What do you think we should do?" As he was doing it he knew he had reacted wrong.

John's head lifted just a little. "You knew."

Greg looked up. "What? Of course, I didn-"

He stopped as John walked around the desk, clearly ignoring his protests having already decided he was lying. "What is all of this?"

Greg tried to pick the files up and John grabbed one. "No, John…" He sighed and put his right hand on the top of his head as John got a hold of one piece of paper and began reading the transcript of texts from Irene to Sherlock and the replies.

"What…" He picked up another piece that lay on the desk and Greg's hand fell through his hair to his neck. "Who is this?"

"That would be Irene Adler." Greg and John looked up to Mycroft standing with two coffees in the doorway, Greg was briefly relieved that he would have seen Greg trying to stop John finding out. He walked around the table and handed Greg his coffee before smiling briefly to let him know that he did in fact see and he wasn't angry. Greg smiled back just as brief and John looked between them both.

"When you're both finished flirting."

Greg looked away and Mycroft looked back to John. "Irene Adler was Sherlock's source of cocaine."

"So, she was his dealer?" John said and then rethought it. "She _is_ his dealer?"

Mycroft nodded slightly and then looked back to Greg. John looked on in disbelief. "Are you really going to just nod and leave it at that?" The men looked back to John as if surprised by his response. "Sherlock is back on drugs, you two knew that and you didn't tell me?" They looked to each other and then back to the soldier with facial expressions which mirrored just how confused he felt.

He was so dumbstruck by what was happening that as he turned on the spot and put his right hand to his forehead he didn't see the pretence drop for a second as the couple looked at each other, their hearts breaking, and when he turned back the masks were back on. Because they had to be.

"Right." He let his head fall just a little. "So, your brother and your friend starts taking _cocaine_ again and not only do you do nothing you don't tell me?"

"Why would we tell you?" Mycroft let a little smirk appear on his face, as if John was naïve for thinking they would.

John paused. "Why wouldn't you?" He looked to Greg. "In fact, I would maybe think _he_ ," John pointed at Mycroft, "would try to deal with it himself but you, Greg? On what planet would you not tell me?"

"It may have escaped your notice, Dr Watson," Greg looked to Mycroft slightly, as did John, a little surprised by the formality but then he realised that Mycroft was not in the room. Mr Holmes was. And he was firmly in British Government mode, "but you have a different life now. You have a wife and a child on the way, you cannot be called upon every time my brother acts out as you were before."

 _"Acts out?"_ John was angry now because he couldn't see why these two could not see the gravity of the situation. He thought for a second that maybe Mycroft was in denial through fear of where this could lead and maybe Greg was just as afraid as to what this could mean for Mycroft but he shook his head concluding that this was not real. His best friend, the best man at his wedding, was back to taking drugs and he would be damned if he was not going to do something about it. "Mycroft, for God's sake, what is going on? Sherlock is back on drugs and apparently he's," John threw up exaggerated air quotes, " _acting out_? Am I even awake right now?" He let out a laugh of disbelief. "He could kill himself."

Suddenly Mycroft was back in the room. "Do you think that I don't know that?" His eyes turned piercing on John, he put the coffee down on the desk and took a step towards him. Greg's face fell as he had no idea how this would go. "Do you think I have had surveillance on Sherlock every minute of every day for _fun?_ Do you think it coincidence that, the minute I started my job and had the access I do, I ordered the surveillance? It was the first thing I ever did, somewhere deep in the files of my employment there is a record of everything I have ever ordered in this job and at the very top – job one – is 'Surveillance on William Sherlock Scott Holmes and his residence'. And you have the nerve to stand there and lecture me about how serious my brother's relapse is? You of all people?!" Mycroft caught himself as Greg moved his right hand to gently clasp Mycroft's left. The older Holmes looked in the direction of the gesture slightly before he cleared his throat and picked his cup back up.

"Me? What have I done?" John asked, looking between them.

"Nothing, nothing mate, honestly." John could see Greg squeeze Mycroft's hand. "We only just found out about it yesterday and we weren't sure if it might be too much for you. You- you had just got everything together and then Sherlock comes back and then the wedding and the baby we…" He trailed off.

"We were worried that it might ruin everything for you," Mycroft offered, by way of apology and… something else. Mycroft was looking at John in the same way that Sherlock watched Mary when he told the couple of their new addition. Mycroft was assessing John's reaction very closely to see if he would be strong enough to know the truth.

"I am stronger than you lot give me credit for, I have Mary to thank for that." He walked to the door and Mycroft's head fell just a little as if his thoughts had been confirmed. "Come on, she and Molly are in the car."

Mycroft stayed standing like that when Greg turned to John as he stopped in the doorway. "Where are we going?"

"It's my turn to save Sherlock."

>><<

The four of them went on ahead while Mary insisted she would be okay finding a parking spot. They all stopped outside the door on Baker Street, John, Molly and Mycroft all looked at each other but were all distracted as Greg stood looking down while he shook his legs and pulling at his jeans. When he looked up he noticed them all watching him.

"What are you doing?" John shook his head.

Greg paused looking from John to Molly and back to John. "It was cramped; the five of us in that car. I have… I need to adjust my boxers and… Stuff." He widened his eyes as his cheeks went red, the three looked away trying not to laugh. Greg reached his left hand behind him and pulled the fabric free through his jeans and then smiled to a passing couple as he spun on his heels and put his hands behind his back trying to act like he wasn't just pulling the fabric from in between his cheeks. John had already started to open the door to Baker Street and Molly followed him when Greg turned back to look at Mycroft watching him with a little smile. Greg went a shade redder. "Shut up, it's a small car." He walked passed Mycroft and in the door as Mycroft tried to ignore the same need in his own underwear.

John and Molly were already halfway up the stairs when they heard shouting. They picked up the pace and burst in the door to see Sherlock standing very close to Mrs Hudson, who was cowering slightly, growling with fire in his eyes. As he glanced to the door he bared his teeth.

"What do you lot want?"

John stepped forward and put his hand out, speaking very calmly. "Well, first of all I want you to step away from her."

"Make me." There was barely any space behind Mrs Hudson before she would have came into contact with the wall behind her. John indicated for her to move and she did so to the side. Molly took a hold of her turning her back to Sherlock a little in a protective manner, Greg and Mycroft gestured and they moved behind the two men. John stepped into where Mrs Hudson had been standing and, since Sherlock had not moved a single inch, they came very close to each other.

"The Sherlock I know would throw someone out of a window if they even put a mark on her so I know this isn't you."

"I didn't put a mark on her," Sherlock spat back.

John smiled furiously. "Okay, you want to play it this way then we will." He looked down briefly and took a step closer to Sherlock until he was threateningly close, just as threatening as Sherlock had been to Mrs Hudson. "If you want to be aggressive and threatening, then do it to someone who won't be scared of you." He gestured to himself. "Do it to me." Sherlock let out a little laugh. John pushed him and Sherlock could not have been more surprised. "I said go on then." John took another step. "Come on then, _junkie._ " Sherlock's face changed back to irritation. "What? You can't be surprised by that? Because that's what you are now. You're not Sherlock Holmes," John indicated each person in the room as he spoke about what he meant to each, "lodger, colleague, brother, consultant, best man… Sherlock Holmes the world's only consulting detective… Oh no." Sherlock was starting to get angry. "You are nothing but a common junkie."

Sherlock suddenly bit back. "You act like I am the only person in the world to ever have a vice or an addiction. You act like none of you have one."

John looked behind him to the others and then back to Sherlock. "Out of the six people in this room _you_ are the only one who is so out of his head right now that he is threatening his landlady. Look at you! You're practically blowing out smoke!"

"I might be the only one currently giving in to his vice but you all have them!" They all looked confused. "Mrs Hudson, the sweet little landlady who could do no wrong? She is addicted to watching danger and drama! Think about it; her husband runs a drug cartel and she had no idea? She is just about the only landlady in London who would rent to two men who chase after the city's undesirables and who have more than their own shares of emotional problems. She sits on the edge and observes, enough to dip her toe in but no further."

The three men glanced back to Mrs Hudson and Molly hugged her tighter as she whimpered.

"And then there's Molly Hooper." Molly braced herself and her jaw tightened. "You were in love with John in college, your saviour, which is understandable," Molly swallowed as John looked from her to Sherlock in a warning not to even mention the incident further, "but then there's me, that's just another kind of self-harm. You are addicted to things you can't have, to the pain of the self-fulfilling prophecy."

Mycroft shuffled knowing he was next.

"Ah yes, my brother. You are addicted to… well, so many things." Sherlock smiled venomously as Greg took a unconscious shuffle to stand more in front of his partner. "You are addicted to secrecy and stoicism. You never let anything show, did you? Oh, no. Because that's not how Daddy taught you, is it?" His voice was mocking of Mycroft and a little bitter. "Not until our favourite detective here." He indicated Greg. "Couldn't spare time for your little brother, it was all 'caring is not an advantage, Sherlock' and yet it is when sex is involved."

"Sherlock!" Greg blurted out in defence and disgust. "You know there's more to everything than that!"

"Oh and look, he'll gladly jump to your aid even when you make no attempt to defend yourself."

"Why would I defend myself?" Everyone in the room looked to Mycroft. "I was a horrible brother but that doesn't mean I didn't love you and that I don't now." They all looked back to Sherlock who seemed a little taken back. "And I may have said that caring is not an advantage but that doesn't mean that I can't be wrong."

Sherlock spat out a dismissive noise and carried on. "Oh really? Well then I suppose Greg knows that drug use runs right through the Holmes bloodline then?"

Everyone suddenly looked very shocked except Mycroft. Mycroft looked hurt that Sherlock would even mention it. Greg turned to Mycroft for denial. And he got none.

"Did you never wonder why, when you were reading my texts, Irene referred to me as 'Junior'?" Greg turned back to Sherlock, as did John who was furious. "How do you think I gained such a contact? A drug dealer that not only sells exquisite material but that my brother cannot make disappear with one phone call?" Greg was angry and his face was brimming with emotion. "But you mustn't take it to heart that, even though you are supposedly the person he is meant to be in love with, he never told you – as I said he is addicted to secrets. But he's not the only one with a drug problem in this relationship, is he?" Sherlock looked to Greg. Everyone looked shocked, as well as Greg.

"I have never done drugs, Sherlock, except for the odd joint in college. I think they are dirty, debase and for complete and utter idiots." Mycroft looked down guiltily and Greg turned. "Idiots," he said with no attempt to hide his disgust and then turned back. "People who clearly have not seen the type of things I have every day."

"Drugs are not always narcotics, as usual you take the literal meaning of things."

"Well, excuse me if I like the cold hard truths. I don't enjoy fluffing words."

"Okay then, you thrive on reassurance and yet you surround yourself with people and things you are bound to feel outmatched by. You were offered a promotion so early, most officers would not have been ready for it but you were, not that you didn't earn it, you did, because, funnily enough the need you have for constant reassurance is what makes you a good officer, you question yourself at every stage. But there's the people you surround yourself with. Let's not even mention the wife that was so definitely out of your league and skip to my brother, shall we? I bet his constant need for someone to give him a pat on the back gets exhausting brother, especially in bed."

He let a smirk form on his face and the whole room became uncomfortable. He looked back to Greg. "Your partner is of ridiculous intelligence, he thinks himself smarter than I and his belief is such that sometimes even I believe it. Then there's his confidence in his sexuality, one you could only have hoped for. You two fought to be together and yet every day you compare yourself to him, don't you?" Greg didn't answer, he knew what Sherlock was doing and he wasn't going to give in. "You get me to work with you and every day I tell you how much of an idiot you are, we both know you're not, but I refuse to pander to this need of yours, I refuse to feed you like some helpless chick and it's mother. And we'll just glaze over the intense addiction you have to protect my brother, shall we? Since everyone saw your defensive stance when I started on him. You." He pointed to John. "It's always you, John Watson," John straightened up, "ever since I met you…" Sherlock shook his head getting a little emotional but trying not to let it show as the anger melted into regret and pain.

There was a pause as Mycroft looked at Greg worried who ignored the look and kept looking at the two men.

"The soldier who never really returned from war. When I met you I saw an intelligent, strong, lost soldier who needed to come home, who needed to want to live as a civilian again... Who needed to want to _live_. You took Molly's pain away and I wanted to take yours away."

"You did." Sherlock shook his head. "You did." He just stared at John. "And now it's my turn to do the same for you."

Sherlock suddenly got angry. "No. You all have your lives and your addictions and your…" He looked at Mycroft. "Your _emotions_ and what do I have? I have my addiction and it makes it better."

"It makes what better?" John shouted. "Your head? Why is it all of these years you were able to deal with what's in there and all of a sudden you can't? I know what it's like to be a prisoner in your own head but why now?" John just sighed. "Why do this to yourself?"

Sherlock got even angrier and advanced on John. "What makes you think I do this for myself?" John pushed him and Sherlock slammed John against the same wall he had unintentionally hurled Molly against and she winced. He glanced to her and his eyes became apologetic for a second before John grabbed him and threw him backwards. Sherlock landed on the arm of his armchair, Greg grabbed John.

"He's out of it, there's no point, mate!"

Sherlock stood back up and shouted back. "I'm out of it? You say that like I'm disgusting! I never do anything for me! The only thing I ever did for me was solve cases." He turned to Mycroft. "I take drugs to suppress pain, when you went to university and left me I took them instead of going to you for help. I live and work in London so that you can keep an eye on me." He gestured to Greg. "I set you two up so that you would be happy together." He looked to Molly. "I went through all of that last night instead of fight with you and make you feel like you didn't matter." And he turned to John. "I fought with you just to get you to let me help you and when that didn't work I faked my own death just to get you to stop trying to kill yourself and," Mary appeared in the doorway, "don't even get me started on you, Mary _Morstan!_ " He pointed to her and turned away.

Greg grabbed John tighter as he tried to make for Sherlock again. "It's Watson!"

"Is it?" Sherlock laughed and Mycroft stepped in front of Sherlock and gave him a look. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, pulled his head away a little and let out a laugh before he turned and picked up his wrap. "Get out before I say any more." He walked along the corridor and into his room before slamming the door.

John pushed Greg off of him and looked to the men. He walked to Mrs Hudson. "You alright?" She nodded. "He didn't touch you, hurt you?" She shook her head.

Mycroft and Greg looked to Mary who looked like she had just seen a ghost, a ghost that the other two could see.

John then turned to Molly. "You okay?" She nodded too. He then turned to the two men again and paused before looking down and walking out, he took Mary's hand and she followed him but looked back to the men as they turned to go down the second flight of stairs. Molly and Mrs Hudson went down to her flat while Greg and Mycroft pulled the door behind them.


End file.
